The Way They Used to Be
by MandaPanda2
Summary: The disintegration of a marriage...or, Gregory and Olivia in the early 80's.
1. Morning Happiness

Disclaimer: All characters (unless otherwise specified) belong to Aaron Spelling, E. Duke Vincent, Gary Tomlin, NBC, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.  
Rating: PG 14  
Genre: Drama/Angst  
Spoilers: The whole series is fair game as this story is a prequel that follows the show's canon.  
Summary: The disintegration of a marriage...or, Gregory and Olivia in the early 80's.

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_"I want…things to be the way they used to be."_

_"The way they used to be? When? Before Del was murdered and you started to think of me as a suspect? Or back to the days when you would work twelve hours a day and you'd come home and you wouldn't say a word? Or back to the times when I tried to talk to you, I tried to get you to love me and you wouldn't?"_ (Episode 10)

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Chapter 1: "Morning Happiness"

The early morning sun beat down on the patio, warming the stones with its golden rays. Clouds hung low in the sky, puffy dollops of cotton dotting the blue. The waves crashed loudly on the beach, white foam flying up as the ocean met the sand. A seagull swooped down, gliding along the surface of the water as he searched for breakfast.

Caitlin jerked the fork out of her bowl of fruit, causing a plum colored grape to catapult across the glass table. "Look Mommy!" she exclaimed as she pointed with the utensil, her small hand wrapped around the royal blue handle. "A birdie!" She squirmed in her mother's lap as she turned to watch a smaller seagull hop across the stone patio. The gull's feathered head bowed to the ground as it prodded the flyaway fruit with its beak before snatching it up and flying away.

Olivia tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear as the four year old turned back to her breakfast. "I don't think birds are supposed to eat that Caity," she murmured as she picked up her glass mug and blew lightly on the steaming coffee.

"I'll give her my toast tomorrow," she decided as she pushed her plate away, littered with the remnants of cheesy scrambled eggs. She leaned back against Olivia's chest, playing with the pale green silk that belted her mother's robe. "Can I have a pet?"

With a soft chuckle, Olivia wrapped both of her arms around Caitlin as she tilted her head back to look up at her. "You know that pets make Daddy sneeze." She rested her chin on the top of Caitlin's head and smiled in amusement as the little girl sighed.

"Even fish?" A persistent child, just like her father.

"We'll see," Olivia conceded as she glanced to her right. A cloud passed overhead, a beam of sun staining the crystal blue water of the pool. Water sprayed as Gregory's arms and legs harshly cut through the surface. Back and forth, he swam one hundred lengths when all was said and done.

As Caitlin tapped her fork against the different glasses on the table, gauging the varying pings they returned, Olivia's eyes never left the pool as she leaned back against the chair. He was content with his routine, rarely deviating from it. Up at six thirty every morning and twenty minutes on the treadmill before he consumed the first of many cups of coffee and attacked the morning papers. Laps in the pool after a light breakfast and then a quick shower before he drove downtown to the office.

He was always so ready to face the day and everything that it held. Somehow, she wasn't sure exactly how, he managed to get up without the aid of an alarm clock. When they first married, he teased that he wanted to spare her the torture of a blaring alarm when there was no need for her to be up so early too. It was no matter. She began to drift out of sleep when the bed shifted as he got up, the warmth he brought to the bed escaping as he threw back the covers.

His days overflowed with complex legal matters, depositions to take, and precedents to argue. Long meetings with the partners at his firm that stretched late into the night after grueling mornings in court. Wining and dining clients at night, a seemingly never ending string of weekend cocktail parties where he was surrounded by throngs of admirers that hung on his every word. Legal expertise from the mouth of Gregory Richards, Esquire was gold in the California legal community. To argue the language of the law with the fastest rising star at _Erickson Vickers, LLP_ was a profound experience.

Was it any wonder that he could be up with the sun? His days held promise. The only promise that hers held was sadness.

She looked down as Caitlin tugged on the sleeve of her robe. "Can I get up now?" Olivia straightened one of the blond pigtailed braids over her daughter's shoulder as she bobbed her head. She grinned in excitement, revealing two perfect rows of pearly white baby teeth. "Please Mommy?"

Before Olivia's nod of allowance was complete, Caitlin jumped off her lap with an exclamation of glee and flew down the shallow steps to the poolside. "Not so fast Caity!" she called out after her. "And not too near the edge!"

She shook her head indulgently as her daughter came to an abrupt stop half a foot away from the edge and began skipping up and down the length of the pool, following Gregory's strokes. Their daughter could follow her father around all day if they would let her. She loved her daddy and Olivia smiled softly as she watched the scene playing before her. She knew what it was like to be a little girl and worship the ground your father walked on. To smile up at your father and bask in his love as his arms enveloped you in an embrace. For your father to smile back at you before he kissed your nose.

At least Gregory still smiled at one of them.

Water drops flew up from the pool as he continued to plow through the water, painting Pollack-like spots on the stone patio. Caitlin's braids spun out from her head as she whipped around and looked hopefully at her mother. She smiled sweetly and hopped anxiously from one foot to the other.

"Yes sweetheart. You may wait on the top step for your father."

Caitlin grinned and carefully pulled off her pink terrycloth dress, a strand of appliqué strawberries on the collar. She folded the cover-up over the arm of the lounge chair and lowered herself slowly to the step, kicking her feet in the shallow water. Olivia shook her head in exasperation and tucked her feet beneath her when she saw the bathing suit Caitlin wore. The mint green and white gingham suit was her favorite, despite being slightly faded because she wore it so often. The little ruffled skirt on the suit danced in the light breeze that rolled off the ocean.

With a sudden stop, Gregory braced the ledge and the pool stilled. Olivia sat up and watched as he sucked air into his lungs, his hands slicking the wet hair back on his head. He turned around slowly, his arms stretched back behind his head. She smiled as he jumped back in surprise when he "noticed" Caitlin, causing the little girl to cover her mouth and giggle loudly. He swam over to her, wide strokes that conjured baby waves in the water. As he got closer to Caitlin, she scrambled up and backed away from the pool, her scream turning into a shriek of delight. Gregory laughed and slowed to a stop, about a foot and a half from the spot his daughter just vacated.

As he held out his arms, Caitlin dashed toward him and leapt into his arms, yelling, "Catch me Daddy!" She hit the water with a small splash, her happy laugh eclipsed by the sound of her feet furiously kicking behind her.

Olivia sipped at her coffee as Gregory tossed Caitlin lightly in the air, another loud shriek coming from the small girl. Yes, Caitlin loved her daddy. Whom else would a little girl trust with such a carefree leap? She knew Gregory would always be there to catch her. He would always be there for her, his arms extended wide.

She glanced back at the pair in the pool. Gregory was pulling Caitlin deeper into the pool, her arms no doubt locked tight around his neck. Her face, no longer chubby with baby fat, pressed into the water as she blew bubbles. Water streamed off her face as she blinked furiously and smiled broadly as Gregory's deep voice assured Caitlin she did wonderful.

Olivia couldn't tear her eyes from this dose of morning happiness, even though it wasn't hers. It was the only comfort she had, the only lifesaver to buoy the loneliness that threatened to overwhelm her when Gregory left.


	2. Darkness Rising

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 2: "Darkness Rising"

Dark storm clouds hung offshore, a rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. Gregory followed the curve of the road and sighed as he stared blankly out the windshield. The twin beams from the headlights cut through the impending darkness, catching the reflectors half buried in the pavement. It was a marvel how quickly the weather changed in southern California. From sunny and calm to rough and stormy. How tempestuous things could become with little to no warning. One moment you could be basking in contentment, savoring the fruits of your life when suddenly darkness blanketed your world. Such was the nature of living in the eye of the storm.

Five minutes from home, the streets deserted because of the foul weather, and he was forced to brake at one of the infamously long traffic signals. He sighed irritably as the Jaguar jerked to a stop and he squeezed the bridge of his nose. Tension oozed from his shoulder blades and he rested back against the leather headrest. Would it really have been so terrible to ignore the signal and continue on his way? He was alone at the intersection and there wasn't a pedestrian in sight.

No, running red lights was Olivia's department. She was notoriously impatient when it came to traffic signals and had been known to throw speed limits into the wind. Besides how would it look- an officer of the court ignoring the law set down by the said court?

The humidity was building, sticky moisture in the air that stung his blossoming headache. Up went the car windows and on went the air conditioning. He drummed his fingers on the base of the wheel distractedly as he glanced at his briefcase and half a dozen file folders filled to the brim on the passenger seat. Paperwork several inches thick and numerous depositions to review, not to mention case law he needed to check before a ten a.m. meeting tomorrow. In short, enough work to keep him busy in his study for hours.

The stop light blinked from red to green and he accelerated immediately, flying through the still deserted intersection. The Jaguar's foreign engine hummed as he took the right onto Ocean Avenue. Like the main road, his street was quiet and shrouded in near darkness, the sporadic bursts of light coming from the intricately carved wrought iron lampposts.

He thought of his own home as he made his way down the long road. Olivia took issue with leaving the lights in the house off once the sun went down. She turned on practically every light in each room, golden lamp light spilling out into the hallways of the second floor and bathing the first floor in a warm glow. When he asked her about it once, she confessed that the house felt bigger and colder than it was with just her and Caitlin there at night. How the lights made much of a difference he wasn't exactly sure, but he didn't press the matter further. And he'd never admit it aloud, but there was something comforting about coming home to a fully illuminated house after a long day, knowing his girls were inside. Caitlin's baby kisses and infectious giggles were sweet rewards after a grueling day at work.

Gregory swung the car into the driveway, killing the headlights and engine with two quick flicks of his wrist. He stared at the lit up house, the deep basin of wild palm and smaller pots of peonies decoratively arranged by the front door. Olivia potted them herself, different bunches in shades of coral, sunshine yellow, blush pink, and cream. He came home early one afternoon to find both of them hard at work, Caitlin making more of a mess than anything. He smiled at the toddler and pulled her mother up, a mock grimace at the extra weight her swollen belly added. Her eyes were bright with unshed laughter as he brushed away the dirt streaking across her cheek.

He found that his thoughts often drifted to her throughout his day, wondering about her. How on the majority of most nights, when he disappeared into his study with the door closed, just knowing she was upstairs in their bed gave him a sense of…something. Relief? Comfort? Most days when he couldn't bring himself to talk to her, let alone look her in the eye, knowing she was in the house brought a measure of being to him. As if he could only realize himself in connection to her…That may have been the most terrifying thing of all.

Gone were the days when he would work from their bed at night as she lay next to him reading a book and later, nursing Caitlin. Even farther away were the early days when they couldn't keep their hands off one and other, his paperwork pushed aside as he surrendered to her embrace. To her bottomless eyes, her full mouth, her eager fingers. Surrendering to her.

He shook his head furiously, chasing away the memory of the way things once were as he climbed out of the car, his briefcase and files in tow. The living room was cozy when he walked through the front door, but still and empty. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and discarded the file folders on the ledge of the half wall. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that dinner was long since over. Ignoring the covered dish that was most likely waiting for him in the kitchen, he headed up the stairs in search of Caitlin and Olivia, as well as a bottle of aspirin to quell the imminent headache.

Poking his head in Caitlin's bedroom, he found it empty too. Her bedroom looked like a small tornado ripped through it. Toys were scattered everywhere, brightly colored blocks littered the pale yellow carpet. A rag doll with yarn hair lay forlornly on the patchwork quilt covering the tiny brass bed. Several large picture books lay open on the floor amid a mess of lounge pillows. In the corner by the large window, a finger painting was clipped to a small wooden easel. Three stick people, a small figure with yellow hair in between two adults with dark brown hair. He and Olivia had laughed when Caitlin was born with a full head of fair hair. Neither expected a blond baby.

The wobbly "C" signature in bright green paint coaxed a small smile from Gregory. She never ceased to amaze him. All of her innocent observations tugged at his heart. Every earnest question she asked tested his trove of knowledge and his ability to answer her with a straight face. _Daddy, why is the sky blue? Why do doggies make you sneeze? Why doesn't Mommy need to shave her face like you do in the morning? And how come Mommy and I don't stand at the toilet like you? _He chuckled and rubbed his face tiredly as he backed out of Caitlin's room and headed down the hallway to his own.

The antique lamp on Olivia's side of the bed was turned down to the lowest setting. Her robe was folded over the handle of the bathroom door, the lilac material propping it open. Caitlin's sandals were kicked underneath the bench in front of Olivia's vanity, her overall dress and rainbow striped shirt tossed on its white cushion. The sound of water splashing on the floor and Olivia's admonishment mixed with a loud giggle from Caitlin.

He pushed open the bathroom door slowly, her robe sliding off the handle to the floor. The large room was misty and the scent of rose petals hung in the air. Olivia was curled up against the curved high back of claw foot tub, curlicues of steam rising from the water. They sat facing each other, Caitlin blowing a wisp of bubbles off her palm and into her mother's face.

The tub was filled to the brim with soapy bubbles, only their shoulders visible above the surface. Olivia grimaced and spat the bubbles off her lips before tossing a small splash in Caitlin's direction. She shrieked and backed away from her mother, settling on the other side of the large tub.

They installed the antique tub when Olivia was pregnant with Caitlin. The extra weight was a strain on her slender frame and standing in the shower was too much on her swollen ankles. She had smiled in relief when she sank beneath the hot water for the first time, resting her feet on the rim as she leaned back with her eyes closed and murmured, "Thank you darling."

Gregory leaned against the doorjamb, watching quietly as Caitlin slipped beneath the surface and popped up a moment later, sputtering and brushing bubbles off her face. She gathered a tuft of bubbles in her palm and threw them up in the air, giggling as they fell lazily back down to the tub.

"Snow!" she exclaimed happily. She leaned back against her mother's chest and blew a current of air through the bubbles on the surface. Olivia's arm rose from the tub, drops of water and bubbles dripping down as she combed her fingers through her daughter's wet head. Her own dark hair was pinned high up on her head, short flyaway wisps curling in the steam. She began humming along with Caitlin and she sat up, the top of her full breasts barely visible beneath the translucent bubbles.

The breath caught in his throat as the soft humming echoed in the bathroom. Moisture glistened on Olivia's top lip, catching the light from the hanging lamp in the center of the ceiling. She sighed tiredly, her eyes already closed as she took her hand away from Caitlin's head and let it hang over the side of the tub. A pool of water quickly puddled beneath her fingers, running slowly off her flesh and dripping to the tiled floor beneath.

Water sloshed in the bathtub as she shifted again, propping her leg up on the foot of the tub. He followed the curve of her calf with his eyes, up from her ankle to the round peak of her knee. God, her legs were fabulous, especially when they were wrapped way up high around his waist. He ignored the flames simmering deep in his belly and continued to watch her, as her toes curled around the rim of the white porcelain.

Her hand went to her ear, fingering the lobe gently before falling down to her chest. His hands balled into tight fists as he imagined the bubbles gone, the swell of her breasts what he longed to see. Two pregnancies had made subtle changes to her body, adding curves and softness to the hard body of her youth. He saw the changes first in her breasts, when he was lying next to her late at night, his fingers brushing lightly against the undersides. His hand drifting lower, down over the barely there bump of her stomach, to the soft flesh between-

Caitlin's high-pitched voice cut through the silence, dousing the stirring in his groin quicker than a cold shower. "When can Kisses move into my room?"

Olivia's eyes opened slowly and she blinked tiredly up at the ceiling. "Tomorrow Caity," she murmured. "Once the water is ready."

He swallowed hard and forced himself to ask, "Who is Kisses?"

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to him, one of them the wide-eyed blue of a little girl as she scrambled naked out of the tub and skidded across the floor. Caitlin shrieked his name and threw her arms around his legs, grinning up at him. He chuckled and bent down to her, wrapping a thick towel around her small body.

"Look at you," he said with a small laugh as he hoisted her into his arms and kissed her wet nose. "You're lucky you didn't slip and fall." He sat the wet little girl on the counter, towel drying her hair with a small towel. Her singsong voice was muffled under the towel and she swung her feet against the cabinet beneath the sink.

In the reflection of the mirror hanging above the sink, he saw Olivia push herself up. Like Venus rising from the scallop shell she stood tall, the water and bubbles running off her body in streams. She wrapped a towel around herself, tucking it into a knot as she stepped carefully out of the tub. She crouched down, unplugging the drain as her hair fell out of its twist and tumbled around her shoulders. With a painstakingly slow turn, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him.

Through the reflection he stared at her, his heart stunned between beats. Just as it had done when she smiled at him from across the room at a cocktail party long since past. It resumed beating as stood up and combed through her tangled hair with her fingers. Four steps and she stood directly behind him, the small smile still playing on her lips as she put her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"You're going to rub the hair right off her head, darling."

Gregory glanced down at Caitlin, hanging the towel around her shoulders. Her damp hair rumbled up in odd places and she grinned up at him. "You're right," he said, turning down to his daughter and away from Olivia's eyes. Where the teasing he'd find there was too bittersweet now, too painful to indulge in. Something he couldn't allow himself. He scooped Caitlin up and glanced briefly at his wife before carrying their daughter out of the room.

He heaved her over his shoulder and asked again, "Who's Kisses?"

Caitlin giggled as her head hung upside down, her hair falling like a curtain in her eyes. "My pet Daddy!"

He kicked several blocks out of his way and set Caitlin on the bed. "Pet?" he asked as she held up her arms obediently, the sleeves of her nightgown going over her arms.

She nodded excitedly and leapt off the bed, the train of the long nightgown flying around her feet. Pointing to a cleared space on her bureau she exclaimed, "Mommy took me to the aminal store today and we picked out a fishy!"

He sat down and smiled at Caitlin's innocent excitement as she skipped back over to him. "A_nim_al," he corrected gently as she crawled into his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and stifled a yawn. She smelled like her mother, the scent of her bath bubbles clinging to her. She had so little of either of them in her, but the most obvious was her eyes. They were her mothers. Why was it so easy to look into Caitlin's eyes and so difficult to face Olivia's? With a sigh, he turned around slowly and pulled back the quilt. He laid Caitlin on the bed, tucking her feet in between the white linen sheets.

"Daddy," she whined softly, "I'm not sleepy!"

He kissed her forehead and leaned over to turn on the small nightlight on the bedside table. "Yes, you are." He wiped an eyelash off her cheek and whispered, "Night Cait."

She yawned widely and stretched her arms above her head. "Night Daddy," she replied softly. "I love you."

"I love you too princess."

Caitlin sat up suddenly and smiled broadly. "Night Mommy!"

Gregory turned around and saw Olivia standing in the doorway, a small smile on her lips. She walked over to the bed slowly, the swish of her silk nightgown the only noise in the quiet room. She bent over and kissed Caitlin's cheek, nuzzling it softly before whispering, "Good night." She moved back as Gregory stood and followed him out of the room, flicking the switch on the wall as she left.

"A pet?" he asked as he closed the door and turned back to Olivia. Her eyes seemed darker, offset by the pale lilac nightgown. Dark purple lace with scalloped edges crisscrossed the bodice and trimmed the matching robe. He flinched under their gaze and turned to the stairwell.

She laughed softly and followed him down the stairs. "It's only a fish darling." She touched his arm, forcing him to turn around at the base of the stairs. "Something that can't make you sneeze." Her giggle wasn't reciprocated and it died off quickly in her throat. "It all happened so quickly," she sighed. "We went downtown because Caitlin needed to get the clasp on her sandals fixed. She passed the pet store and begged to go in." She chuckled softly, remembering the way her daughter's eyes widened in awe. "The fish were just there Gregory. And besides," she pointed out, "it's small and there's only one."

He shrugged and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a half opened bottle of wine. Olivia got two wine glasses from the hutch and set them on the counter. The cork gave easily and the Bordeaux bubbled out of the bottle, splashing into the glasses. He leaned against the counter and rolled his shoulders, working out the tension in his aching muscles.

"You should have seen her," Olivia said quietly as she took a quick sip out of her wine and walked behind Gregory. "She thought the fish was blowing kisses at her." Her hands kneaded his shoulders slowly, but forcefully.

"Did she?" he mumbled as left his wine glass on the counter, pushing it away slightly. Her hands were perfect, working at the knots until he felt them began to loosen. "You should've called me. I would've met you."

A thin stream of air hit the back of his neck before she placed a soft kiss on his flesh. "I did. Nancy said you were in a meeting though with Cash-, Casha?"

He jumped away from her, turning around quickly. Her eyes were wide with shock and she folded them against her chest. "What?" she asked.

He ran his hand through his hair and reached for the wine, swallowing a large gulp. "Nothing," he insisted, shrugging his shoulder intentionally. "You just pinched something."

Olivia's eyes fell in apology and she reached for him. "Oh, I'm sorry darling." She squeezed his hand and smiled softly. "Forgive me?"

"It's fine Olivia." He threw his head back, finishing the rest of his wine and turning the glass upside down in the sink. He cleared his throat and turned away to look at the round clock on the wall. "Cashlin and I had a meeting with Vickers about our next case. And we have a prep session tomorrow morning. I have a lot of work to do tonight."

She stepped aside and let him pass. "What time do you think you'll come up to bed?"

He froze in the doorway of the kitchen and glanced slowly over his shoulder. "Late," he said shortly, her blue eyes boring holes in him. "You don't need to wait up." He walked back over to her quickly and pecked her cheek. "Good night Olivia."

"Good night," she said softly as he left the kitchen. The scuff of his shoes receded as he got further away from the kitchen. She turned back to the counter, reaching for her wine glass. With a sigh, she sipped at the wine and stared down at Gregory's empty glass in the sink. Her glass in one hand, the half-empty bottle in the other, she walked out of the kitchen, hitting the light on the way out.

The living room was quiet, the door to his study no doubt shut tight. The wine was smooth and rich down her throat as she stared down the hallway to his study for a moment. "I love you," she whispered before she took the stairs up to her bedroom.


	3. Birth

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 3: "Birth"

"Can I hold Emily?"

Olivia shook her head as she shepherded Caitlin into the elevator. "I don't think so. Four please, Caity."

Caitlin frowned as she dejectedly pushed the button for the fourth floor. "Ok," she sighed dramatically. She kicked at the floor with the toe of her plastic sandals and shifted the large teddy bear she held from one arm to the other.

The elevator whined as it rose and Olivia instinctively pulled her child closer as they neared the obstetrics floor. She hadn't been back since her miscarriage nearly two years ago. She reached for Caitlin's head and closed her eyes as her palms began to sweat. Anxiety plagued her since the moment she woke up this morning, anticipating this very moment. Her stomach still churned, despite throwing up before leaving the house.

"Ow!" Caitlin howled. She turned around and glared accusingly at her mother. "You pulled my hair Mommy!"

"I'm sorry Precious." She kissed the little girl's cheek softly and stood up as the doors opened. She took a deep breath and willed her frozen feet to take a step forward. Just one step…

"Come on Mommy," she called as she stood outside the elevator, waiting for her mother to follow her. "I wanna see Emily."

Olivia nodded and stepped out of the elevator tentatively. Brisk chatter from the nurse's station hung in the air, as did the faint wail of newborns from the nursery. She closed her ears and concentrated on the room numbers as she and Caitlin walked hand-in-hand down the hall. If it was anyone but Bette, she would have just sent the gift rather than bring it in person. She stopped in front of room 425 and forced a smile to her face. Today was about Bette and her daughter, not her own demons.

Pushing the door open slowly, she poked her head in and asked softly, "Can you handle two visitors?"

"Oh thank God," Bette sighed as she tossed her magazine to the side. "Sitting quietly for a long time is like asking a Catholic to eat meat on Friday during Lent."

"Poor Bette," she teased as she walked into the room, Caitlin in her wake. Bette's private room was flooded with sunlight and the large window had a breathtaking view of the harbor. "How do you feel?" she asked as leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Not bad, considering that I just pushed something the size of a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon." She winked and waved Olivia into one of the visitor's chairs next to the bed. "Is that for moi?" she asked, pointing at the stuffed animal in Caitlin's arms.

The little girl giggled hysterically and hugged the bear closer. "No silly! It's for Baby Emily," she explained as she climbed into her mother's lap.

"And how is little Emily?"

Bette grinned broadly. "She's a looker, Toots. Absolutely gorgeous."

"Well of course she is. She's your daughter," Olivia deadpanned as Caitlin squirmed in her lap and rested her head on her shoulder.

"Point." She leaned back into the pillows and tucked her hand behind her head. "I look at her and I just get this warm bubbly feeling in my chest. You know?"

Olivia hugged Caitlin closer, kissing her forehead. "I do," she said softly as looked into her daughter's blue eyes, pinching her button nose playfully. She glanced back up at Bette and smiled knowingly. "It's a pretty nice feeling."

"Hello," a nurse called out pleasantly as she backed into the room pulling a cart. "How are we feeling this afternoon, Mrs. Davis?"

Bette rolled her eyes as the too cheerful nurse rolled the bassinette next to the bed. "Just peachy," she said distractedly as she sat up, her eyes on the bundle of tightly wrapped pink blankets. A small face poked out from the bundle, wide eyes that blinked sleepily.

Caitlin slid off her mother's lap and stood on her tiptoes to look down at the newborn. "She's smaller than my dolly," she whispered to her mother.

"So were you Beauty when you were born," Bette told her as she took the baby from the nurse. She bent closer to Emily, taking in the clean baby smell.

The little girl's jaw dropped, as if she couldn't believe she was ever that tiny. "Was I Mommy?"

"Oh yes," Olivia assured Caitlin as she skipped back to her. "And just as pretty."

Caitlin's soft giggle was drowned out by a deep voice that boomed out, "Well, I'll be!"

Olivia turned around as Del Douglas strolled into the hospital room, a large bouquet of flowers in one hand and an excited little girl head trailing behind him. He smirked as he walked around to the other side of the bed, kissing Bette's cheek loudly. "I never thought I'd see the day. Little sister, you look plum suburban. Nearly domesticated," he drawled.

"Why, thank you Del. I'm sure there was a compliment in there…somewhere." She gestured the tiny red head closer with her head. "And there's my Annie."

The little girl smiled a toothless grin, a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. "Is that Emily Rebecca?"

"It is," Bette nodded, flashing a smile at her niece before looking up at her brother. "And I'm sure you remember Olivia?"

"Course I do," Del smirked as he winked across the room at the dark haired woman. "How could I forget someone as lovely as you Darlin'?"

His deep voice caused Caitlin to shrink closer into her mother's embrace and Olivia rubbed her back gently. "You wouldn't be you if you did," she deadpanned dryly.

He chuckled loudly, rambunctious laughter that drew Emily's eyes up to the sound. "Well that's true. How's Greg?"

Olivia glanced down at Caitlin and then met Bette's eyes before she answered, "Fine. Very busy though."

"Not too busy though that he can't lavish you with the attention you deserve?"

"Hey, hey, hey," Bette interrupted. "Little ears."

Olivia smiled and patted her daughter's back as she stood up. "We should be leaving." She bent down, kissing the side of Bette's head. "She's beautiful. I'm very happy for you." She locked eyes with Del's for the briefest of moments, lust smoldering deep in the brown of his. All these years and still no change. She'd rejected his advances and ignored his innuendos since the day she met him, her marriage to Gregory no deterrent.

She fought off the urge to roll her eyes the way Gregory did, but she never quite mastered his look of utter disdain. He joked she was too nice when she complained about it once. "Nice to see you again. You too Annie," she said as she smiled down at child next to him.

"Bye-bye," Caitlin waved as she latched onto her mother's hand and followed her out of the room.

"I'll walk with you," Del called out as he followed her down the hallway. He wrapped his arm casually around Olivia's waist, ignoring the way she flinched when his hand touched her hip. "Have I mentioned that you look positively luscious?" he whispered in her ear.

She chuckled softly as Caitlin stepped up and pressed the down button. "Lovely. Luscious. Come up with another word starting with 'L' and I'll be really impressed." She gently pushed his hand away and turned to him. "Well?"

"Can I take a rain check?"

She shook her head as the elevator doors opened. "I don't think so." She stepped through the doors, Caitlin's arms wrapped around her waist as she rested her head tiredly against her hip. "I'll tell Gregory you send your regards."

"You do that." The doors began to close and he called out, "Liaison!"

She shook her head, chastising him silently as she rolled her eyes. _Not as good as one of Gregory's but better than nothing_, she thought as Del disappeared behind the closed doors.

* * *

He'll be here soon.

After three long days, he's finally coming back to me. I shiver in anticipation and prop my leg on the foot of the bed. The lotion is cool in my palm and I rub a generous amount onto my leg. Freesia fills the room as I work my hands up from my ankle to my thighs. He appreciates the freesia lotion, the way it clings to my flesh and softens it. He knows what he likes.

And I know what he likes.

He likes coming here late at night, when work ceases to be a bother. Freedom to unwind and recover from a day of stress. It's even more of a sanctuary on days when he's been in court all day. He doesn't have to think, doesn't have to be something for everyone. He can just be him. I toss the bottle aside and straighten the sheer nightgown over my breasts. Classic and elegant, just to his liking.

The bedroom is dim and I squint at my reflection as I fluff my hair. He was right. I do look better with bangs. Regret stabs my heart and I quickly shake my head, trying to chase away the feeling. He tries his best. He really does. I can afford to make more changes than he can. I just wish he could stay longer. Maybe even the night once. Waking up without him in the morning hurts. That's not so much to ask, is it?

It's hard resenting a child. His child. A little blond cherub, the very mention of her name bringing a proud smile to his face. He loves his daughter and I can't help but love him even more for that. Fathers should love their daughters. It's a lesson my father must've missed.

But he loves his daughter tremendously. And he's a good father. Maybe too good. Hadn't he explained that if it weren't for her, he would've left his wife months ago? I sigh and turn away from the mirror, straightening the sheets as I turn down the bedspread.

It's admirable, I suppose as I run my hand across the chocolate brown sheet. Staying in an unhappy marriage for the sake of your child. But admiration is a poor substitute for his arms around me when I fall asleep and his smile greeting me when I wake up. A very poor substitute.

He's an excellent jurist, one of the top at his firm. He'd be able to get sole custody of his daughter with no problem. And his wife is rather attractive. Dark hair and bright blue eyes. She'd find a new husband fairly quickly. And in time, she'd forget him. She would survive and I'd have him to myself. My mind wanders thinking of how it would sound.

"Mrs. Gregory Richards," I say aloud.

I was made for it. And one day, it will be mine. The title, the status, the reputation. And him. All mine…forever.


	4. A Prince

_**NOTE: This chapter is RATED ADULT for some sexual content.**_

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 4: "A Prince"

Gregory paused and glanced back down at the yellow legal pad, rereading his last sentence. He frowned and crossed it out, the point of the black pen scratching angrily on the paper. Staring down at the rough outline for an article he was working on, he couldn't recall what exactly it was he was trying to say. He sighed heavily and tossed the pad aside, glaring off into the distance.

The large corner office was quiet, the distant sound of his secretary's typewriter snaking in through the partially opened door. The vertical blinds were pulled back from the windows, sunlight pouring in through the tinted windows. Too bright, it would appear as he glanced at his desk. The bronze statue of Justice that Olivia bought him when he made partner glowed, the metal of the scales catching the sunlight.

"Justice," he snorted quietly to himself as he followed the curve of Justice's exposed leg with his finger. The way he used to do with Olivia. "It doesn't exist in the real world." If only real life could be like the cut and dry world of law. When someone harmed you and did you a wrong, there were legal avenues you could navigate for revenge. Justice could be found.

How did one get justice from Fate? It was blind like Justice, attacking indiscriminately and striking down a person's life. In the blink of an eye, it could all change. When Fate set her sights on you, there was nothing you could do. Absolutely nothing until she passed and you could gaze around at the remnants of the way your life used to be.

His gaze fell on a picture of Olivia. A near perfect profile shot that some photographer for the newspaper had taken of her at a banquet several months ago. She didn't know that he was there, snapping her picture, otherwise she most likely would've turned to the camera. He reached out, plucking the framed photo off his desk.

He liked it better that she wasn't looking. That the young photographer had captured her perfectly, animated in whatever conversation she was caught up in. Her head was slightly tilted, the curve of her neck nearly perfect. And a broad smile curling up the corners of her mouth, a flute of champagne near her lips as her fingers played with the string of pearls around her neck. Frozen forever in a moment of spontaneity.

He set it back gently on the desk, the leather blotter smooth beneath his fingers as he tapped them thoughtfully. She had bounced back a few weeks after the miscarriage. Caitlin still needed a mother, she had explained when he suggested she was trying to do too much too quickly. After all, he had argued, it was still too soon.

But without her recovery to worry about and without her leaning on him for strength, the focus would be off her. He couldn't avoid his anger and much more dangerous that that, his pain. Without her to dote over, there was no excuse. But trying to control the uncontrollable was difficult. Every day when he woke up, it became harder and harder to be himself around her. So one day, he just stopped. He snapped at her, flinching at the way she froze and her face fell. She turned away then and didn't speak to him for the rest of that day.

Without her to talk to, it suddenly became easier. Keeping her locked out ensured the cap stayed tight on his emotions. Staying away from her ensured that he'd be able to control the only thing he could control: himself. His world may have been thrown upside down by a cruel twist from Fate, but he could reclaim it by controlling whom he let in again. And Olivia was far too dangerous. She had the unnatural ability to just look at him and know what he was thinking. Her eyes could pierce his soul and he just couldn't allow that anymore.

A sharp knock at the door brought him back to the present and he looked up. "Come in."

"We need to go over some things before I go to court this afternoon," Cashlin Russell stated from the open doorway.

"Fine," he sighed as he stood up, waving her in. She smirked and clutched the stack of folders to her chest, the click of her heels swallowed up by the carpet. "Hold all my calls, Nancy," he instructed the woman still hovering expectantly in the doorway. He waited until she nodded and closed the door quietly behind her.

"Did you get my memo on the Ashfield case?" Cashlin asked as sank into the chair in front of his desk. She looked down and opened a folder as he stood in front of her, leaning against the desk and his arms folded across his chest. "About the tax issues?"

"I did. Your secretary dropped it off this morning." He reached forward and pulled a thick piece of paper off her lap, scanning it quickly.

"Well? What should I do? The returns have already been disclosed to the prosecution and I doubt I'll be able to get them excused from evidence. It's clear that Ashfield was-"

"Keep them in," he said simply, dropping the document next to him.

Her jaw dropped. "What? Are you crazy? Those documents effectively end my case. Too not fight them would be unethical. I wouldn't be defending my client properly."

"You say unethical, I say responsible."

"Oh, I'll be responsible," she scoffed. "Responsible for getting Ashfield sent to prison and my ass thrown out of the California Bar Association when he files a complaint with the Disciplinary Committee."

"You said," he sighed, barely able to conceal his boredom with the argument, "in your memo that it was only after a close review of the returns that you noticed the discrepancy in sums. If the D.A. is half as intelligent as you and," he smirked down at her, "I highly doubt that he is, he'll pick up on it. However, the odds are in your favor that he won't give them more than a passing glance."

Her light brown eyes narrowed as she continued cautiously, "That sounds too easy. It'll never work."

"Oh, but it will. The D.A. is overworked, underpaid, and more importantly, understaffed. Just keep burying him in briefs and after awhile, tax returns from nearly a decade ago won't look so important."

She stood up slowly, the stack of folders sliding off her lap. "I take it," she said softly as she reached for the buttons of Gregory's shirt, "you've used this tactic before."

Gregory shrugged and cupped her hip. "Stick with what you know."

He tugged on her blouse, pulling it out from her skirt as she pressed closer. He grabbed her and flipped around, pushing her up onto the desk as her hands pushed his shirt off his shoulders. The papers in their way scattered and the picture frames fell over as she slid back. Her hands trailed down his chest, fingering his belt before she began to pull it open.

There were no words, no loving caresses. Just their bodies and eager hands as they divested each other of their clothing. He roughly squeezed her breast and she responded by nipping his neck just below the ear lobe. It wasn't love for him. It was sex. Sex that demanded nothing from him at all.

Just impersonal and mind numbing sex so that he didn't have to think about the way Olivia's eyes felt on him when she wanted him. The way her blue eyes lavished him with attention and her fingers trailed slowly through his hair when she wrapped her arms around his neck. The way that making love to his wife in the bed they conceived their children in felt like coming home. The way she knew his body almost as well as she knew her own. The way they moved together almost like second nature. The way she whispered "I love you" in his ear as she climaxed.

He supposed then that it was inevitable that during these trysts in his office, when he tried his hardest to forget Olivia, she was all he could think about.

* * *

"Mommy, what are you doing?"

Olivia sighed as she dropped an armful of clothes onto the foot of the bed. "Looking," she explained as she ducked back into the large walk-in closet.

"For what?"

"A blouse to wear to dinner tonight."

The little girl finished the shortbread cookie she stole from her mother's plate and glanced around at the piles of clothing surrounding her. "What's wrong with what you're wearing?"

She lugged more clothes onto the bed and glanced down. "Caity, I'm wearing a bra and a half slip."

"Well," Caitlin said thoughtfully, "I think you look pretty."

"Thank you," Olivia said, bending down to kiss her daughter as she lay a heavy garment bag down. "You've been sneaking some of my shortbread, haven't you?" she asked as she licked her lips.

Gigging infectiously, Caitlin fell back into a pile of clothes as her mother tickled her sides. "Yes," she squealed as she desperately tried to push her mother's fingers away. "That tickles!"

"Does it?" She smiled and sat down next to her daughter on the bed, brushing strands off blond hair off her forehead. "You aren't ticklish," she teased, tweaking the little girl's sides one last time.

"Yes, I am!" Caitlin insisted as she climbed into her mother's lap and laid her head on her shoulder. "You have a lot of clothes Mommy."

"Do you think so?" she asked, glancing around at the tall piles.

"Uh huh." She sat up and poked a heavy white garment bag with her small finger. "What's in there?"

"Oh," Olivia sighed as she followed Caitlin's gaze, "that's-, that's my wedding dress."

"Really!" The innocent awe in the child's eyes brought a small smile to Olivia's lips as she nodded. "Mommy, can I see it?"

"I suppose," she said quietly as she stood up. It had been years since she had taken it out. She'd had no reason to up until now. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled the zipper down and pushed the sides apart. She lifted it carefully from the bag and held it up as Caitlin gasped.

"Oh Mommy, it's a princess dress," Caitlin whispered as she stood up on the bed, her fingers grazing the delicate lace on the bodice.

Olivia shrugged as she caught her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. It was a beautiful dress, practically a work of art and had taken nearly six months to complete. She smiled to herself, remembering the way Bette complained when she accompanied her to every fitting. But in the end, even she was speechless the first time Olivia had tried on the finished product.

She shook herself out of her memories as Caitlin tapped her arm and asked, "Can I play dress up in it?"

"Oh no," she said as she laughed lightly, cupping the little girl's cheek, "it'll be too big on you."

Caitlin sighed in disappointment as she looked back down at the garment bag. "Well," she asked after a moment, "can I try on the long and swishy thingy you wore on your head?"

"The veil," she corrected softly as she laid the dress over the arm of the lounge in front of the bed. She reached down into the bag, pulling out the veil as her daughter clapped excitedly. "Follow me."

Caitlin leapt off the bed and skipped over to her mother's vanity table. Humming softly, she climbed onto the cushioned bench and watched in the mirror as the veil was set gently on her head. Several layers of netting fell from the crown and Olivia fluffed them until they fell straight.

"I look like you!" Caitlin exclaimed.

Olivia smiled as the child danced excitedly from foot to foot. "Almost," she allowed as she walked around to the front. "You just need a little make-up."

"But you _always_ say no when I ask to play with your lipstick."

"Not today," she said softly as she pulled the drawer open and took out her cosmetics bag. She unscrewed the tube of lipstick and cupped Caitlin's chin. "Pucker you lips. Gently, Cait, like this." She pressed the tube to her lips and applied it lightly. "Don't you look lovely?"

Caitlin giggled and sneezed as a small brush was rubbed with a practiced hand onto her cheeks. "Did your Mommy help you with your make-up before you married Daddy?"

"She did. Close your eyes." Brushing a light shadow onto the small eyelids, she continued, "She made sure I looked perfect."

She opened her eyes slowly and smiled up at her mother. "When I'm big enough to get married, will you help me?"

"Of course darling." She kissed Caitlin's cheek and picked up a bottle of perfume, squeezing the atomizer. She smiled when her daughter giggled, the light mist settling on her neck.

"Were you happy to marry Daddy?"

"Yes, very much so. I couldn't wait to marry him." She glanced up as a creak echoed in the room for a moment.

"And was he excited too?" Caitlin asked, turning her mother's attention back to her.

Olivia laughed to herself, recalling the boyish grin that Gregory wore throughout their eight-month engagement. "Oh yes," she explained as she picked up Caitlin's wrist and sprayed it with perfume. "Rub those together. Your father," she continued, "was so excited that he wanted to get married the same night he proposed."

"What's a proposed?"

"It means he asked me to marry him." She combed the fine hairs of Caitlin's eyebrows with a thin brush and said, "He was very disappointed when I told him that we had to wait."

"How come you had to?"

"Well, I wanted a big wedding with all our friends there. And," she added after a moment, "I wanted to wear a long, fancy dress. I-, I wanted to look pretty for your father." She returned the tiny brush to her cosmetics bag and reached across to her jewelry chest. She pulled open one of the tiny drawers and took out a small pair of earrings, clipping them to Caitlin's ear lobes. "There now," she said as she walked behind Caitlin and crouched down until their faces were side by side, "what do you think?"

"I look like a big girl!" She turned her head slowly from left to right, watching her reflection in the mirror. "Like a fairy princess! Did Daddy think you looked like a fairy princess?"

Olivia nodded slowly and she couldn't help but smile, remembering the way Gregory's eyes never strayed from her as she walked down the aisle. The way he took her hand when she reached the altar and whispered, "I may see you every day for the rest of my life, but I'll always remember you in this moment."

She wondered if that was still true. If he still thought of her that way when he was locked up in his office, hidden behind mountains of paperwork. If he even thought of her at all.

"Fairy princesses aren't real, Cait. They only exist in stories," Olivia whispered as grasped her daughter's small hands.

Caitlin chewed on her lip and shook her head. "No, Mommy. _You're_ the fairy princess. And Daddy's your prince."

Deep pain stabbed at Olivia's heart with the little girl's simple, but true, argument. He was still her prince, he was still her reason, he was still her- he was everything. He was and always would be her everything. The center of her universe. She just wished that she was still the center of his.

She shook her head slowly and forced a smile to her face. "You're right Caity," she said softly as she placed a kiss on her cheek.

* * *

"_No, Mommy. You're the fairy princess. And Daddy's your prince."_

Gregory's head jerked up in surprise and he inched closer to the partially open door. He had come home early, through with work for the day and prepared to start his weekend early. Not to mention that he and Olivia had dinner plans with one of the firm's senior partners and his wife.

His thoughts had been a million miles away and he nearly walked in on them. He had pushed open the door slightly with a loud creak until he saw Olivia standing by her vanity. Her back was to the door, the simple satin bra stretching across her bare flesh as she told Caitlin about their engagement. He had backed away quickly when Olivia turned toward the noise, but stayed close enough to overhear.

He had leaned against the wall next to the door and listened, a smile coming to his face as she explained their proposal. And all the things she left out, things not appropriate to tell a four year old. The way he had been ready to charter a plane after she accepted his proposal so that they could be married on a hillside overlooking the vineyards of Napa Valley at dawn. The way she kissed him, a deep kiss that caused them to forgo dessert and make love on the balcony of the apartment he was living in at the time. And after, the way they lay curled up on the lounge chair together as she stared at the large pear shaped ring and his fingers lazily trailed her bare back.

He scoffed now and doubted to himself that he was the prince Olivia needed him to be. For the love of God, he couldn't even look her in the eye half the time. And on days that he could manage to look into her eyes for more than a mere second, all he did was lie to her. Lie about where he was, why he was at the office so late, why he never came up to bed until long after she was asleep. He was no prince.

"_You're right Caity."_

He shook his head and backed away quickly, nearly tripping over the potted palm in the hallway. How could she still think him a prince? All he did was ignore her and treat her nearly as poorly as his father treated his mother. He wasn't a prince. He wasn't even a good man, never mind a fictional character from children's stories.

Good men didn't ignore their wives. Good men didn't brush away their wife's compliments like they were dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Good men didn't make their wives cry themselves to sleep. Good men didn't sleep with other women.

He turned quickly away from the bedroom door and walked quickly down the hall. No, he wasn't Olivia's prince. Perhaps he never was.


	5. Dead Like Kisses

_**NOTE: The very last line of the chapter are the words of Cicero, not my own. I'm simply not that cool. **_

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 5: "Dead Like Kisses"

Dark storm clouds hung low in the sky, pushing in from the horizon. The smell of impending rain was in the air, perfuming the sticky heat with a bout of freshness. The tinkling of the key ring was muffled in Olivia's palm as she jiggled them lightly.

A strong wind blew in off the ocean, stirring the stickiness in the air and the wisps of dark hair escaping from the twist high on her head. She shivered as the breeze chilled her to the bone, seemingly freezing the blood racing through her veins. She shrank back into the barely there warmth of her sweater and wrapped it tight around her. The pocket swallowed up her keys as she took a deep breath to quell the aches radiating throughout her body.

_I should have asked the housekeeper to pick up Caity today_, she thought to herself as she closed her eyes and grabbed hold of the pointed slat. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the wood tighter, willing it to provide the strength she needed to wait until the cherry red door opened and the pre-schoolers filed out.

She rubbed her face tiredly, sighing deeply as she did. Thunder rumbled lightly in the distance and she turned her face up. Endless clouds of ugly gray stretched across the sky. She ignored the chatty conversation from the other mothers and hung her head as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

From across the playground, the school door swung open and Olivia managed to breathe a sigh of relief. She closed her eyes quickly as her vision swam, everything in her line of sight blurring together. Her teeth sank into her lip as she inhaled sharply. With small and unsteady steps, she made her way to the school gate, her grip loosening on the fence.

Her eyes blinked rapidly and she squinted, struggling to see Caitlin in the line of eager little faces. There she was now, breaking out from the line and running towards the gate. Olivia's attempt to smile at her daughter fell short as her stomach flipped inside out and her mouth ran dry, splotchy black dots dancing in her shaky vision.

A siren erupted in her ears and her knees buckled beneath her. Her hand flailed, struggling to grab hold of something- anything- that would hold her. But it was no use. With a mocking grace and a soft moan falling from her lips, her body rotated slightly before folding to the concrete sidewalk.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly as her back flopped against the ground, the hard concrete providing little cushioning for her head. She saw the dark sky briefly before her blue eyes rolled back into her head.

Ice crept up from her feet, blanketing her body as she lay sprawled on the sidewalk. Darkness fogged her mind and eventually went black. But not before she registered a high-pitched shriek of terror and wondered whom it came from.

* * *

The black leather heel hung dangerously from Cashlin Russell's foot before falling off to the wood floor. Its soft thump was barely a ripple in the conference room and she flexed her toes as she angled her chair slightly. Her gaze was fixated on Mason Vickers, the founding partner who stood at the table with his hands clasped on his leather chair. Her mind, though, was elsewhere. 

It was with her foot, sliding across the bare space between her chair and the one next to it. Slithering under the hem of his suit pants and rubbing up against his leg. Feigning active listening and dutiful note taking, her silver pen scratched across the legal pad as her foot curled around his ankle.

For his part, Gregory cleared his throat before taking a long sip out of his steaming mug of coffee. She swallowed a smirk and glanced at him out the corner of her eye, a lock of hair twirling round her finger. He drummed his fingers, rising and falling quietly on the table as he ignored her. Never one to be dissuaded, she increased the pressure and bit her lip as her toes dug into the taut muscles of his calf.

Getting him was half the fun- and half the turn on. He was always so serious and never in the mood for games. As her foot continued to nuzzle him, she tried to think of the last time she had seen him smile outside of work.

Hardly ever.

Cashlin picked up the pen and nodded while Vickers continued to drone on about the rapidly approaching end of the quarter. Gregory's thoughts always seemed elsewhere when they were together. He covered it well, nearly too well she realized and her fingers tightened around the pen. She could see it in his eyes, on the true occasions where he let her see them.

"Ms. Russell?"

Her head flew up as she ripped her foot away from Gregory, her eyes blinking rapidly. "Yes, Mr. Vickers?"

He triggered his finger at her and winked. "Excellent job on the Ashfield case. You demolished every one of the defense's arguments."

Now it was Gregory's turn to smirk as she smiled sweetly at her boss and nodded graciously. "Thank you sir. I appreciate you saying so."

Her foot cautiously returned to him, teasing him briefly as Vickers turned to one of the other lawyers seated around the table. Once everyone's eyes shifted too, following the man who signed off on their paychecks, her hand flew across the bottom of the paper.

_Later? After this damn meeting ends?_

His eyebrow arched as he glanced down, taking in and acknowledging her offer. The pen in his grasp, he twirled it in his fingers, intentionally holding withholding his response.

Frustration got the best of Cashlin as she frowned and narrowed her eyes, tapping her own pen impatiently against her knuckles. _Purposeful bastard_, she thought to herself as the silver metal turned her flesh a battered shade of light red.

With painstaking ease that told her how much he enjoyed torturing this way, his pen scrawled something in the corner of his sheet. As he turned it to her to read, the door to the conference room clicked open.

Conversation fell away as Gregory's secretary, Nancy, swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry for interrupting but…Mr. Richards?"

Cashlin and the entire room watched as he beckoned his secretary over. Her heels clicked in a rapid staccato as she practically bolted to his side.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," Cashlin heard the young woman gush apologetically, "but you have a phone call. I wouldn't be bothering you with it, but they said it's an emergency. Your daughter's school."

The legs of Gregory's chair groaned harshly against the floor as he pushed back from the table. Cashlin flinched at the unpleasantness of the noise as he stood quickly.

"If you'll all excuse me," he began but Vickers silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"Don't apologize, good God man. It's an emergency, like the woman said." Gregory's smile was forced as he stepped back and Vickers continued, "Take the call." He pointed to the corner of the room and a small table with an off-white phone.

Cashlin watched Gregory balk for a long moment before nodding his thanks and stepping over to the phone. Hardly anyone turned down a suggestion by Vickers. Not even Gregory.

"Line five," Nancy whispered, her advice broken up as her voice cracked. She wrung her hands as she glanced around the room nervously before stepping back to the wall.

Vickers began speaking again, his boisterous voice lowered significantly. Not that anyone was really listening. While the firm was one of the largest in the nation and employed brilliant minds proficient in all areas of the law, from international to criminal defense, it was still made up of people. People who were by nature nosy and eager to gossip amongst themselves about their co-workers, clients, employers, and everything else under the sun. It was far easier to cast judgment on the way others lived their lives than look at the sorry state of their own.

So it was really no surprise to Cashlin that the other partners, and even Vickers she suspected, made a rather poor attempt of doing anything other than listening to Gregory's half of the phone call.

"Yes, this is Gregory Richards." He stood with his back to them, only the corner where the two walls met were privy to read the emotions wrinkling his face. "Caitlin collapsed?"

Her heart melted into concern as she heard the tightness in Gregory's voice and saw the way his fist clenched. His daughter was one of the few lights in his life. If anything happened to that child-

"Olivia?" It was barely a whisper, a choked question that rang louder in the now silent room. All pretenses of privacy flew out the window as Cashlin stood up, taking a step closer to Gregory as Vickers followed suit. "It was Olivia?"

The tense ball of flesh and bone his hand became unraveled as he asked, "Which hospital?" He was silent briefly before he said, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He set the phone slowly back into the cradle, staring at the wall silently for a long moment. Turning around, he found Vickers questioning eyes and explained monotonically, "My wife. She was taken to the hospital."

Disbelief and shock clung to his voice and she couldn't help but take another step closer to him. His eyes swept over hers as he turned to Nancy, robotically pulling his suit coat off the back of his chair. Dead eyes with a blank stare that didn't see her. As if she wasn't even there.

Nancy followed him out of the conference room, hurrying to keep up with him as she promised his car would be idling at the valet station in the parking garage by the time he got down there. The door snapped shut behind them, cutting the interlopers off from the noontime drama.

Vickers cleared his throat and glanced over at his own secretary. "Alice, make a note for me to call Richards later tonight and check in." As she nodded and penciled in the note, he turned back to the group. "Well…" he began as he shook his shoulders.

As the conversation slowly returned to the focus of the meeting, Cashlin sank slowly back into her seat. Dark foreboding hung over her, darker than the storm clouds that looked ready to burst at any moment.

His eyes may have not registered her and she wasn't quite sure if she was able to trust that he'd arrive at the hospital safely, but it was there. Clinging to the edges of his eyes and probably moving in with each passing second. Determination. Come hell, high water, or the thunderstorm that promised to rain down on them this afternoon, nothing stopped Gregory Richards when he set his mind on something. Her face curled into a sneer as realized he was determined to be with his wife.

With a discreet huff of ire, she sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. The words were ingrained in her mind, even though she was no longer looking at them. His response. The one he had teased her with.

_My office._

* * *

For the third time in his life, Gregory's car sped down the coastal highway to the hospital. The rubber wipers sloshed the pelting rain to the side, briefly clearing the windshield so he could see the road in front of him. 

Four years ago, when Caitlin's labor came so hard and fast that he thought he'd be delivering her on the side of the road. It was much earlier then; the sun was barely in the sky. Olivia clenching down on his right hand as he struggled to drive with just the left one. A howl of pain as another contraction ripped through her body that made him feel guilty for getting her pregnant in the first place and putting her through this

Two years ago, another pregnancy. A labor that couldn't be any more different from the first even if it tried. Again he drove left handed as his right hand lightly slapped her cheek to keep her conscious. His lap cradled her head and he remembered looking down more at her then up at the road. The stench of blood overpowered the space and he had to open the window to let in fresh air. She was hemorrhaging too severely, bleeding straight through the bedspread he wrapped her in before he ran from the house.

It had been quiet on that second occasion. Too quiet. He would've given his soul to hear her scream curses at him the way she did with Caitlin's birth. To feel her hand squeeze all the feeling out of his. No one ever told him he would wish that on himself. But no one ever told him that their child could die in utero either. That sort of tragedy darkened the homes of other people. It didn't happen to his home. It wasn't supposed to get him where he lived surrounded by those he cherished more than anything.

His car skidded through a deep puddle, water flying up all around him as he careened into the parking lot. He was out of the car before it even stopped, jerking the keys out of the ignition as he ran through the rain to the emergency room. It fell in buckets, drenching him instantly. He didn't feel the cold as it seeped through his clothes to his flesh or feel the raindrops and wind stinging his face.

He wasn't sure that he felt anything other than fear. Mind numbing and paralyzing fear.

The entrance to the emergency room was practically deserted, a few orderlies loitering beneath an awning as they puffed on cigarettes. Dirty rainwater stained the linoleum floor, turning the tiles into near ice as he ripped across it. The nurse's station was empty, though a half-eaten sandwich on wax paper and opened soft drink behind the counter promised that someone would return shortly.

He sighed and pushed his wet hair off his wet forehead. Yanking a wad of tissues from a box, he patted his face dry and glanced around at the barren waiting room. An elderly man, dozing in the most likely uncomfortable plastic chair. A little girl curled up in another seat, her well-sucked thumb hanging out of her mouth-

"Caity?" he asked as he stepped closer.

The little girl's head flew up and her face crumpled as Gregory pulled her up into his arms. Her small body shook with sobs as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and fresh tears washed away the dry tracks on her cheeks. "Daddy," she cried, hiccups breaking up the wail that rose in her throat, "Mommy's dead! Dead like Kisses!"

Gregory sat heavily in the seat behind him as Caitlin buried her face in his neck. Life seemingly rushed out of his body in one fell swoop. His daughter's hysterical sobbing faded into the background as her cry echoed in his head.

_Mommy's dead_.

Mommy couldn't be dead. Mommy was Olivia and Olivia wasn't allowed to do that. Not yet. She just wasn't. Not until they were old and gray together, their bones creaking with each movement. Not until things were the way they used to be. She wasn't allowed to leave without knowing how much he needed her.

_Mommy's dead_.

She couldn't do this to him. Damnit, not now. Not without knowing how much he depended on her. Not without knowing that she was the love of his life. Without her, there was no life. He hadn't lived before he met her. He couldn't live without her now.

A shudder rattled in his chest and he struggled to suck air into his lungs. His lungs cried out in protest and he gave up, burying his face in his daughter's hair. Hiding from the world as the bones of his rib cage tightened, squeezing the last drops of blood out of his heart.

_Mommy's dead._

"Oh, Mr. Richards! You're here!"

He lifted his head, seeing a young woman looking down at him in concern. She sat across from them, clutching a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a juice box. "Come drink this Caitlin. Everything is going to be alright."

The little girl's long blond hair waved violently as she shook her head and shrank deeper into her father's embrace.

"It'll make you feel better."

"NO!"

Gregory blinked his eyes, the emotion receding enough to recognize the woman sitting before him. "You're one of Caitlin's teachers."

She nodded and smiled comfortingly as she moved over and sat down next to them. "Yes, Mary Anne Kristman. I followed behind the ambulance in my car with Caitlin. She was devastated by what happened." She briefly met Gregory's eyes and added, "As you can see."

Turning her attention back to Caitlin, she rubbed her arm and held up the juice offering. "Cranberry, Caitlin. One of your favorites."

"My Mommy mixes it with orange juice for me," she whispered softly, sniffling as she reached for the box and stared at it sadly.

Gregory closed his eyes, remembering his amusement the first time he saw Olivia drink the concoction. The ruby cranberry turned a dull red after the orange was added, reminding him of a sunset. He had teased her, telling her he never would have taken up with her had he known about her strange habits. She had finished off the mixed juice and kissed him, before whispering coyly that she would've hid them for him. He licked her lips after she pulled away, tasting the tart remnants of juice and asking her to make him one.

The young teacher smiled and stood up, holding out her hand. "Why don't you and I go take a walk up to the cafeteria and get some? Then you can go see your Mommy."

His heart began to pound as he jerked his head to look at the woman. "What?" Caitlin slid away from his lap as his arms loosened and fell limply to his sides. "What did you say?"

Mary Anne looked oddly at Gregory, cocking her head in confusion. "Caitlin…She'll be able to see her mother soon. I just saw the nurse. She said the doctor is nearly done examining Mrs. Richards."

_In the present. She referred to Olivia in the present_. He shook his head as if batting away cobwebs from his head. "But-…She-…"

He rubbed his eyes and leaned over his knees, his head hanging in his hands. The floor was scuffed and dried water droplets dirtied Caitlin's black patent leather shoes. He reached for his daughter, clasping both her hands within one of his one as he looked back at the teacher and explained, "Caitlin said Olivia was-" He cut off abruptly, not willing to speak such a vile word in the same breath as his wife's name.

She rested her hand atop Caitlin's head and smiled reassuringly. "No. Caitlin," she said as she looked down at the small girl, who wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater and looked up at her father with wide eyes, "saw her mother collapse and she hasn't seen her since. I tried to explain-"

"It's fine," he said as he stood quickly. He cupped his daughter's cheek, waiting until she looked up before he promised, "Mommy's going to be fine, Caity. She wouldn't leave us. You go with your teacher."

From his wallet, he fished out a series of bills and pressed them into the teacher's hand. As she started to protest, he insisted, "Buy her a snack and get yourself something as well." He stared into her gray eyes and said softly, "I can't thank you enough for watching over her."

She nodded and watched as he bent down, kissing his daughter's forehead for a long moment. "We'll be back," she said as she gently pulled Caitlin along.

He followed them to the elevator, smiling at his still listless daughter until the doors closed. Turning away, he set off for nurse's station.

She was alive. Olivia was alive. He laughed to himself and smiled as he walked back down the hall. She was still here. She hadn't left him.

While there was life, there was hope.


	6. To Live Again

_**NOTE: This chapter is RATED ADULT for sexual content.**_

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 6: "To Live Again"

The narrow hospital bed was uncomfortable and the generic sheets were rough against the exposed skin of Olivia's arms and legs. A pillow covered in paper cushioned her head, but it wasn't soft enough that she was able to ignore the large bump. She turned her head to the side and sighed deeply, the dull ache throbbing throughout her skull.

Folding the blue quilt and sheet over her chest, she clasped her hands together on top and stared out the window. It had been pouring when the nurse wheeled her into the room but by now it faded to a smattering of rain made cheery by a sun shower. Warm beams broke through the clouds, staining the water droplets on the glass pane a deep shade of gold. The new light broke through the window, catching the large diamond on her ring finger. Sparkles of silver light, edged in all the colors of the rainbow dotted the wall and ceiling.

She glanced around the private room for a clock but didn't see one. Had it been hours yet? It certainly felt that way. The nurse didn't know anything about Caitlin when she had asked about her. Olivia bit her lip fretfully and closed her eyes. Her little girl had been running across the playground when she fainted. She must everything that happened.

Her eyes opened as the door handle squeaked and it clicked open. Turning over slowly, she sucked in a soft gasp as she put pressure back on her head. Gregory stood in the doorway, the perfectly pressed suit he left the house in this morning was now heavily wrinkled. His hair was mussed, as if he had showered and forgot to comb his hair back.

"Did you get caught in the rain?" she wondered softly as he sat in the chair next to her bed. His hand was warm as he took hers and squeezed it lightly before placing a delicate kiss on her flesh. His fingers rubbed her own and she couldn't help but be drawn to the comfort, shifting closer to him.

With a smile, he nodded and said, "Running from the Jag to the emergency room." His lips caressed her hand again, brushing against the cold metal of her engagement ring and wedding band. Their eyes met and the softness she found there was a surprise. He hadn't looked at her like that…in years.

Her hand twitched in his grasp. "Oh God…I'm dying, aren't I?"

His eyes froze, boring holes into her as he shook his head. He sat up quickly and cupped her face, the kiss also taking her by surprise. It was the way he used to kiss her, as if he had to pull her closer because he couldn't get enough. "You aren't dying," he whispered against her lips, their foreheads brushing together. "Not for a long time."

She clasped his wrists and leaned against him as his thumbs stroked her cheeks. "Something has to be wrong," she insisted. "You haven't- _we_ haven't- been like this in ages."

Olivia sat back against the pillows as his hands fell from her face. He hung his head and sighed deeply. When he looked back up, she saw regret clouding the brown of his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she bit the corner of her lip. Dredging up the pain of the past few years and their myriad of problems would do neither of them any good now. His palm cupped her knee through the blankets and she shook her head, resting her hand over his. With a deep breath, she asked, "Does the doctor know what's wrong with me?"

He shrugged mysteriously, his smile hinting that he knew more than he let on. He always did, sometimes knowing things about her before she herself did. "How are you feeling?" he questioned, his fingers lazily tracing a circle around the cap of her knee.

She shrugged, her eyes and face wrinkling in a frown. "I don't know…like hell, I suppose."

Gregory nodded, running his hand along her leg and over her thigh. He reached up and cupped the back of her head, shrinking away slightly when she flinched. "Just a bump. The doctor doubts you have a concussion." She watched him for a long moment, searching his face for some sign of whatever it was that he knew. "What's the last thing you remember before fainting?"

"Waiting at the playground gate for Caity- Is she alright?" He nodded and she closed her eyes thankfully as she thought back in her mind. "Good. That's good." She opened her eyes again, not willing him to be out of her sight, even though he was sitting next to her. "I didn't feel well. I was freezing. I was dizzy and then everything went black."

She sat up and he leaned forward, adjusting the pillows down around the small of her back. Her eyes met his cautiously and she whispered her thanks. "Now will you tell me what the doctor said?"

He grinned and gently pushed her legs to the side, sitting down on the bed with her and braced his arms on either side of her waist. In the lowest of whispers and with the broadest of smiles, he said, "The doctor says that in five months we're going to have a baby."

She stared at him blankly as he gripped her hands, squeezing them excitedly. "A- a baby?" she repeated unsurely. "I don't understand."

His chuckle surprised her and he brought their hands together. "Sweetheart, you have to remember how this goes."

Olivia shook her head quickly, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to stop her thoughts from racing. "I'm not pregnant." She opened her eyes and looked back up at him. "I can't be pregnant. _I'd_ know. _I_ would've seen the signs," she insisted as Gregory shook his head slowly from side to side.

"Liv," he reminded her as he scooted closer to her, "you're forgetting how long it took you to figure out you were pregnant with Caitlin. You blamed the morning sickness on the flu that Alex Mitchum gave you after she came back from Bombay for a visit. The backaches were because the mattress was too soft and needed to be replaced. And your headaches had to have been from some allergy that was just rearing its head." He smiled gently and declared, "It was a surprise then and it's a surprise now. A _wonderful_ surprise."

She followed with her eyes as he pressed their entwined hands to her stomach. "You're happy?" she probed, desperate to be sure. "This is what you want?"

He cupped her face again, his fingers grazing her neck as his thumbs caressed the soft flesh of her earlobes. "More than anything," he whispered as he captured her mouth with his lips for the second time.

She closed her eyes as their kiss deepened, the promises on their lips drawing them together. He was Gregory again. The man who brought her steaming coffee every morning in bed. The one who whispered in her ear as they lay together on a lounge chair, watching the sun setting from the patio. Who danced with her on the balcony after their baby girl was down for the night. He was back.

She allowed herself to smile as he pulled away with a small laugh. "We're having a baby," she exclaimed. He chucked her chin and she couldn't help giggling as she squeezed his hand tightly. He was back and she wasn't letting him go again.

A knock at the door caused their gaze to split and he turned around, calling out, "Come in."

Mary Anne Kristman stuck her head in, smiling warmly at Olivia and Gregory. "I hope I'm not disturbing, but there's a very anxious little girl waiting outside."

He waved her in as Olivia sat up and smiled as Caitlin raced into the room. "Mommy!" she shouted excitedly as she climbed onto the chair before jumping into the outstretched arms of her mother.

Olivia buried her face in her daughter's hair and kissed her head quickly several times. She smelled heavenly, like freshly cut flowers and faint traces of her father's cologne.

"Oh, I missed you," she whispered in an outpouring of love and emotion as her own face was showered with a barrage of kisses.

"Are you better now Mommy?" Caitlin asked as she sat back in her lap, clinging to her hand.

Gregory sat behind Caitlin, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Mommy's just fine," he promised, "and she'll be coming home later this afternoon."

As Caitlin cuddled against her with a ferocious hug, Olivia eyed her husband over the top of their daughter's head. He smiled, his hand brushing against hers as he rubbed Caitlin's back.

"I'm fine, Caity," she promised as he nodded encouragingly and took her hand. "I'm just fine now."

* * *

I turn away from the clock, ignoring the way the hands continue to rotate around the face. Eight o'clock had long since come and gone. Gregory wasn't here. 

The lighter clicks over and I drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in my lungs for a long moment before I breathe out. Sparks and ash fall from the tip as I tap it over the ashtray. A block of solid crystal. A gift that he brought back from his last trip to London.

I try not to think of why he had been there and whom he was there with. It wasn't worth the time or the energy. I had him, every part that was worth having.

The dinner was still in covered trays, but no doubt cold by now. The cubes that chilled the wine in the silver bucket had melted, the label loosened away from the bottle. I turn back to the table, glaring at the remaining stumps from the long ivory tapers. The flame had already flickered out on of them.

Jumping up, I drop my cigarette in the wine bucket, barely registering the hiss as the water extinguished it. Picking up the cover, I hurl it at the wall and feel validated when it clangs against the wall. A dark mark now disfigures the Jacquard wallpaper. Wallpaper I only chose because he casually mentioned one night how fond of it he was.

The bundles of roasted asparagus look sad, tied together in a now wilted bow made of prosciutto. The tray goes the same way as its cover, hitting the wall and falling to the floor below it.

How dare he do this to me! I wipe my arm angrily across the table, the china crashing to the floor and shattering into thousands of pieces. Bastard!

I bend down, picking up a shard from the broken plate. The sharp point is just what I need. It cuts into the expensive wallpaper and it suffers my wrath. Slashes zigzag across the wall and I wonder what he'll think when he sees it.

My chest heaves as I turn away from the wall, the fabric hanging off it in tatters. The piece of broken plate falls from my hand and I look around at the mess the small room became in such a short while.

Gregory's done this. None of this would have happened if he had shown up as he promised. I glanced over my shoulder at the torn wallpaper, fluttering in the breeze coming from the open windows. This afternoon's rain had given way to an evening of cool weather.

It's strong enough to stir my hair as I look down, registering the cut on my index finger. Dark red blood seeped out of the gash. I press the bleeding finger to my lips, sucking the cut dry. It smears against my lips, staining them better than lipstick ever would.

As the blood swirls down my throat, it replenishes my resolve. Never again will I allow this to happen. Or the wallpaper won't be the only thing destroyed by my hand.

* * *

The sheets rustled as Gregory pulled the bedspread down and tucked the duvet around Olivia's sleeping body. He slid beneath the sheets, beating the pillows into shape before laying his head on them. 

A cloud hid the moon, a sure disappointment for stargazers. A faint beam of moonlight came in through the window, falling on her face. Even in her sleep, she was content. Her face was relaxed, her lips curled into a slight smile. She rolled closer to him, draping her arm across his chest as she nestled her head on his shoulder.

How many times had he done this to her in the past two years? Come to bed long after he was sure that she was asleep? Too many times to count. It had been easier that way. He wouldn't have to look into her eyes and see himself or all of her hopes there.

But that was then and this is now. This time, their hopes were the same again. His hand drifted down to her shoulder, caressing her stomach through her silk nightgown. Another child. He couldn't help but smile as he kissed her forehead and hugged her closer.

He had pushed her away so often that he knew the precise moment their child was created. He remembered it vividly; he was sure she did as well.

_Gregory sighed as he paid the teenager babysitting Caitlin and walked her out. He could hear Olivia all the way from the door, stomping up the stairs and down the hallway to their bedroom. He should have cut her off hours ago. She didn't know her limit, knocking back one vodka martini after the other at the wedding reception until he dragged her out of the banquet hall. _

_He should have known that his coworker's wedding would set her off. Their problems appeared harsher in the festive atmosphere of Cashlin Russell's marriage to her long time fiancé. It was all he heard on the drive home. Everything that was wrong with him, her, and their marriage. He kept his eyes glued to the road, not saying a word and just allowing her to ramble. _

_The door clicked shut behind the sitter and he locked the door before heading up the stairs. He loosened his bow tie, letting it hang open as he undid the first buttons on his starched white shirt. _

_The bedroom was quiet when he entered it and he glanced around quickly before closing the door softly. Olivia came out of the bathroom, kicking her heels loudly into the corner as she stood in front of her vanity table. He watched as she yanked the earrings away from her lobes, tossing the nearly priceless jewels casually onto the table. _

_Their eyes met in the mirror and they eyed one and other before he turned to the closet, pulling the tie off his neck. _

"_God," she muttered as undid the clasp on her necklace, "even when you're here, you're not."_

_He heard her turn around and he felt her eyes on his back. Pulling off the tuxedo jacket, he hung it on the closet doorknob. The buttons on his shirt gave easily and he heard her sigh of disgust. "What is it you want me to say, Olivia?"_

"_I want you to look at me!" she shouted. She glared when he didn't turn around, keeping his back to her. The silver plated hairbrush caught her eye and she picked it up, hurling it with all her might at the mirror. The glass shattered instantly with a loud pop and tinkled to the floor in dozens of pieces. "Did that get your attention!"_

_He turned around slowly as she snapped, "Is that what it takes to get you to listen to me!"_

_Chuckling sarcastically, he walked over to her, the glass crunching beneath the soles of his shoes. He sat down on the bed, pulling off his shoes and tossing them into the corner with her heels. "Acting like a spoiled child will get you nowhere."_

"_And acting like the well-mannered wife of a high-society attorney has gotten me nowhere either!"_

_Gregory yanked the shirt free from his pants, leaving it undone as he stood up. "Why," he asked, feigning boredom, "is my work such an issue? Is it because you need to irritate another person into worshipping you with attention?"_

_Her eyes narrowed, hardening to ice as she yelled, "You're at that godforsaken office more than you're here! And when you are here, you're always locked away in your study working!"_

"_May I remind you," he ordered, his voice dangerously low, "that it's because of my long hours at that 'godforsaken office' that you're allowed to live the lifestyle you've become accustomed to. Very accustomed to." He heard her suck in her breath, preparing to launch a response as he marched over to her closet. Yanking an armload of her clothing off the rack, he flung them across the bedroom. "In the designer clothes you wear. In the expensive jewelry you lavish on yourself." _

_She crossed her arms across her chest angrily and insisted, "I have never cared about that! Ever!" She kicked at a pile of clothes that had landed in front of her, throwing her arms away from her body. "Take it all! Get rid of them! Sell them, burn them, I don't care! They don't change anything! They don't help anything!" she sobbed, her fingers twitching against the side of her neck. "You don't look at me anyway."_

_His voice froze in his throat as her face crumpled and she turned away, the shaking of her shoulders causing a heavy weight to press against his chest. "You don't see me anymore," she continued softly, her voice cracking as she gulped back a sob. She collapsed heavily onto the bench in front of her vanity, the palm of her hand cushioning her forehead. _

_The pile of hair on her head was slowly unraveling. Thick pieces of her dark hair fell down to her bare shoulders, offsetting the burgundy gown she wore. "It's as if I'm not even here. You can be the man that I fell in love with when you're with Caitlin, but when it's just us- when we're alone together…you're a thousand miles away from me." Her spine stiffened as she whispered, "You don't love me anymore."_

_Olivia's sob cut through the silence as she began to cry, hunching over the antique table as she buried her face in her hands. He was unable to move, as her sobbing echoed in her ears. He had done this. He had done this to her. Chipped away at her heart until all the strength in it was destroyed. As dead and buried as she thought his love for her was. _

_He walked over slowly, stepping around the broken glass and clothing scattered on the floor. Her shoulder was warm as he laid his palm on it, brushing away a lock of her hair. She flinched at his touch and whispered, "I'm so lonely…even when you're right here next to me."_

_Grasping her arm, he pulled her up, urging her to stand and face him. Tears corrupted her blue eyes, her eye makeup running amuck. She shuddered as his hands slid up her shoulders and cupped her neck. His eyes were so solid, so strong. She sniffed as his fingers swept over her jaw to wipe the tears off her face. _

"_No," she moaned softly, trying weakly to push him away. "No, I don't want you…not like this. Not if you're going to pity me."_

_This thumb ran across her bottom lip slowly as his other hand reached around the back of her neck. "This isn't pity," he assured her quietly as he pulled her closer. _

_She resisted for a brief moment before surrendering, wrapping her arms around him. He pushed her back and onto the edge of the table, gently nibbling the sweetness of her lips. His fingers fumbled with the zipper before pulling it down slowly. The skin of her back was soft and smooth as he ran his fingers across it, splaying his hands flat as he guided the delicate material apart. _

_Her mouth moved across his as she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, turning to his neck. Teeth grazed flesh, quick bolts of heat shooting straight to her heart as he scooped her off the table. Two steps and they were at the bed, falling back onto it together. _

_The bed creaked slightly as he rolled over, pinning her body beneath his. She gasped as he ripped the front of the dress down, the cool air hitting her exposed chest. The silk would be crushed tomorrow, wrinkled beyond recognition but she didn't care. He wanted her again. _

_She watched as he sat up quickly, pulling the dress off her body and throwing it aside. Her arms went around his waist as he threw his shirt to join her discarded gown. His bare chest was warm against hers as she tightened her arms and drew him closer. Blood coursed through her veins, pounding in her ears as his tongue showered her breasts with attention. Her fingers ran through his hair, grasping a fistful as her lips parted to sigh. _

_He raised his head, staring down into her face as her fingers ran across his chest. Mascara and eyeliner streaked and smudged beneath her eyes, painful reminders of just how much he had hurt her. He couldn't take his eyes off them as she rolled over, sitting on top of him as she fought with the button of his pants. Yet, he couldn't remember a time in the past few months when she had looked more beautiful. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright as she pushed his pants down and crouched over him._

_The tip of her index finger trailed down his nose and rested on his lips for a brief moment before she whispered, "I love you."_

_Gregory could still smell the alcohol on her breath, but it didn't make her quiet declaration any less true. If anything, it was even truer. When was the last time he had been around her long enough so she could say them? When was the last time he had earned the right to hear those precious words? _

_He rubbed a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, finding it near impossible not to touch some part of her. Her hand fell from his cheek as she pressed her lips to his again, her elbows digging into his chest. _

_He didn't deserve her words. He didn't deserve her. But he couldn't help himself. He could feel himself slipping away as she pushed herself up, tightening her legs and gasping. _

_Her forehead glistened with perspiration as it fell back, her hips rocking against his. The blue of her eyes narrowed to slits as he gripped her hips, grinding into her and pushing deeper. Her teeth sank into her lip as he yanked her down and flipped her over to her back. _

_Sweat beaded on his brow as his eyes glinted, gazing into hers for what seemed like eternity. Not saying anything, not moving against her. Her eyes widened in confusion, twisting her legs around his. Aching with anticipation moaning slightly, her body writhed beneath his. _

"_I love you," he whispered, nuzzling the hollow of her neck as he began to move again. A sob rose in her throat as their lips ground together, encompassing each other as he continued to whisper when they broke apart, "I love you."_

_She could've lived forever in that moment, gripping him closer and sharing air as the bedspread bunched in rolls beneath them. The weight of him on her was real. The feel of him in her was a lost pleasure she thought she'd never have again. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his back as flames shot up from her hips. _

_Warm waves of pressure continued to build between them until it exploded, like a river breaking the dam that confined it. Her back arched, the flesh of his back dotted red from the crescent impressions of her nails. His chest shook against hers, their hearts pounding in near synchronization against their rib cages. _

_With heaving breaths, he pushed away a lock of hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. Curling his fingers, he rubbed them against her cheek. "I've always loved you," he promised softly._

_She opened her mouth, but couldn't find the energy to speak. His finger traced over her parted lips as he slid off her. He yanked back the covers and pulled her beneath them with him. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he whispered into her hair, "Always."_

He rubbed her shoulder and whispered to her sleeping face, "I just didn't know why you still loved me."

Silence stretched after his rhetorical question as he stared down at her. The curve of her shoulder was perfect; the pressure of her arm across his stomach was as fulfilling as anything could dream of being. And beneath the thin material of her nightgown and the flesh of her stomach, lay their child.

He kissed her forehead again, taking care not to wake her. Things would go right this time. _He_ could be right again. This baby would live, a living symbol of the love they shared. This baby would go on.

They would go on.


	7. Amaranthine

_**NOTE: This chapter is RATED ADULT for some sexual content.**_

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 7: "Amaranthine"

The bedroom door creaked open slowly, cautious feet padding across the floor to the bed. Gregory rolled over, opening his eye a crack. Bright sunshine streamed in through the windows, more than he was accustomed to seeing when he usually woke up.

Rubbing his eyes, he pushed himself up and the footsteps stopped abruptly. He looked up and smiled tiredly, beckoning his small guest closer. He sat back against the intricately carved wooden headboard as Caitlin giggled and jumped onto the bed.

She cuddled against his chest and placed a loud kiss on his cheek. "You were sleeping _forever_!" she exclaimed.

"I was," he agreed, a hint of exhaustion in his voice, "until a little mouse named Caitlin crept into my bedroom and-"

"But I was real quiet Daddy!"

Gregory kissed her forehead and hugged her a bit closer. "Yes, you were." Her tousled blond head settled on his shoulder and he glanced to his left. Olivia's side of the bed was empty, the mattress cool to his touch. He frowned and tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his daughter's back. "Is Mommy downstairs?"

Caitlin sat up, her shoulders rising as her head shook quickly from side-to-side. "Elsa is…and she made breakfast!"

"Did she?" he asked distractedly as he stood up, kicking away the silk sheets. He carried her in his arms, nestling her small body against his side.

Her head bobbed eagerly as her fists latched onto the collar of his pajamas. "Uh huh. Huge, giant pancakes!"

He eyed the barely open bathroom door for a moment before smiling back down at Caitlin. "Your favorite. Why don't you go downstairs so you can pick out the biggest one?" She looked doubtful, content to stay in his arms until he added, "And you can tell Elsa I said it was alright to give you chocolate milk."

The deal was sealed. Caitlin's legs flailed as she struggled to be let down. "Okay!" she shouted excitedly as she ran from the bedroom.

As her footsteps receded down the hall, Gregory walked over to the bathroom and pushed the door open fully. Olivia stood in front of the full-length mirror, eyeing her reflection critically. He watched in an amused silence as she turned to the side, pulling her nightgown tight over her abdomen with one hand. The skin between her eyebrows furrowed as she frowned, her other hand skimming across the flesh of her stomach.

He folded his arms against his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, breaking into a grin as she pinched her lower stomach. How many times had she done that they found out she was pregnant with Caitlin? A good luck charm, she explained. Then later, as the pregnancy progressed, she pinched her stomach to bemoan her expanding waistline.

How could he not see the changes before? They were so clear, so obvious. The slight thickening of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, and how tired she had seemed the past few weeks. Changes that he reveled in the first two times, he had been oblivious to now. He shook his head, turning his attention back to her. Her hand was following a slow circular path around her stomach.

Her head rose slowly and her hand froze when she noticed him behind her. With a sheepish smile and a blush coloring her cheeks, she asked softly, "How long have you been standing there?"

Pushing off the wall, he took a step closer to her. "Not long," he admitted. Walking closer until his chest pressed against her back, he clasped her hips and placed the softest of kisses on the back of her neck.

As his hands snaked around to her stomach, she leaned back against him and confessed, "I still can't believe it. Four months pregnant." She smiled at him in the reflection, relaxing against the way his thumbs intimately stroked her stomach through the nightgown.

"Oh, I think you're allowed a few days for it to really sink in." She shrugged half-heartedly and he added, "It hasn't even been a full twenty four hours that we've known."

"Yes, but darling," she insisted, "I'm barely showing. Look." She ran her hand across her still somewhat flat stomach, smoothing out the silk of her nightgown. "It doesn't look like I'm pregnant; it just looks like I've gained weight."

He swallowed a chuckle as she frowned at her reflection, her hand still rubbing her stomach. Resting his hands on her shoulders at the curve of her neck, he asked, "So you won't feel pregnant until then?"

"It seems rather silly when you put it like that."

"No, it's rather…endearing."

She laughed softly, turning with his arms still around her to face him. "That doesn't make me feel much better."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, wondering if she could hear the way his heart thundered against his ribcage. "I'm so sorry."

Olivia paused, amused confusion rippling across her face. "For what?"

"For," he began slowly, "everything." Her face fell, pearly white teeth capturing the corner of her lip nervously as she realized what he was referring to. "For not being the kind of husband you needed, the kind you deserved." Her eyes turned down and she bit the corner of her lip as he continued, "For failing you."

She sighed, shaking her slightly. "Gregory-," she began, a condonation forming on her lips.

"Don't let me off the hook so easily," he interrupted as he grasped her shoulders. Softening his voice, he cupped her face gently and whispered, "I nearly forgot…"

"Forgot what?" She watched as softness glazed over the brown of his eyes, a near match to the way his fingers caressed her chin.

"You," he admitted, the pad of his thumb trailing the underside of her bottom lip. "This. How special your love is." He paused, his voice wavering slightly as he continued, "What a gift it is to be loved by you."

Her eyes melted as he grasped her hands, holding them to his lips for a long moment. "How tortured I am without it. Without you," he whispered into her flesh. "Without you, I don't live."

A beam of sunlight feel in through the skylight, causing the tears captured in her eyelashes to glisten. Her chin trembled and her breathing fell from her lips as a raspy sigh. His lips grazed her knuckles before he pressed their entwined hands to his chest.

She blinked, a hot tear falling silently and landing on her cheek. His heart was strong, thumping rhythmically as she squeezed his hand gently. Strong and determined, as the return squeeze attested.

"You've always been entirely too hard on yourself," she insisted softly as he released her hands, only to capture her face again.

She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and glazed over with unshed tears. Volumes of love on a mass scale shined through the blue, blooming warmth in his chest that had not resided there in sometime. But it was trust that shocked him. Complete and utter trust in him echoed behind the love in her eyes, in the way that she curled into his touch. It was something he hadn't known until he met her.

He wrapped his arms around her back, hugging her close and taking comfort in the warmth of her body. They still fit together perfectly, her head resting against his shoulder as his hands slid down the curve of her spine to hold court at the small of her back. Until he met her, there was no light in his world, no promise of color. The life that she introduced him to seemed like a dream, filled with love, happiness, and trust. All of which she still held in high regard.

He didn't know her capacity for faith. Her faith in life, herself…in him. How after all of the silence and anger of the past two years, she could still trust him. Still love him. Be able to forgive him.

As he took in the lingering scents of her honeysuckle shampoo, she pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck and whispered, "It's because I love you."

Gregory glanced down in surprise as she turned her eyes up bashfully. A knowing smile spread across her face as she reached up to push an unruly lock of his hair back in place. Her fingers combed through his dark hair, the tips of her fingers trailing across his scalp.

His hands molded to her hips, the nightgown rippling in bunches as he caressed her through the silk. He lowered his lips to hers, pressing softly against hers and feeling the way she sucked in her breath. Something's didn't change.

Backing her into the marble counter, he cupped her bottom and squeezed gently, quietly taking pride in the way she tensed against him. Her fingers curled around the lapel of his charcoal gray pajamas, drawing him closer. Promise lingered on their lips, a gentle rediscovery of each other.

His lips kissed their way over her chin and followed the curve of her neck, down to the base of her throat as her head fell back. They lingered in the soft hollow for a long moment, alternately nibbling and kissing.

She gasped slightly as his teeth grazed her flesh, her tongue running hungrily across her top lip. "Gregory," she sighed, as her hips involuntarily ground against his.

An eyebrow arched as he turned his eyes up to her, his lips never straying from their concentration on her throat. She forced her eyes open in time to see him smirk at her before lowering his head again. Her arms locked at her sides as she braced her hands on the countertop.

The cool marble warmed instantly beneath her palms as pulses of heat shot out through her skin. His mouth was teasing her breast slowly, ignoring the silk that rested between his tongue and her. The fine material darkened in color as he feasted on her, color flushing in her neck and face as she again rasped his name.

Dropping to his knee, he looked up her. Her chest heaved, her eyes shone with desire- and he realized he'd never wanted her more. His palms rubbed against her hips as he nuzzled her stomach with his face, wanting desperately to have her back in every way. His hands followed the curve of her hips to her inner thigh and her loud gasp echoed around the bathroom.

She squeezed his shoulder as he urged her down to him, her arms settling around his neck as her knees touched the floor. Unable to tear himself away from her eyes, he simply gazed. Her tears from earlier were gone, smoldering with passion as she pulled his pajama top apart.

As half a dozen buttons bounced and scattered across the floor, she whispered, "The door's open."

"She's downstairs," was his distracted response as he slid the thin straps off her shoulders.

Nodding slightly, she pushed the shirt from his shoulders as her nightgown pooled around her knees. As he wriggled his arms out of his sleeves, her lips played with his neck, feather kisses that trailed down to his chest. Her body tingled in a thousand and one places as he gripped her arms and forced her to look up. The intensity of his stare gave her pause and he pulled her closer, their lips meeting hungrily.

As he near devoured her lips, his fingers stroking the sensitive triangle of flesh between her legs, her muffled moan sliced through the silence. The silence of the last two years evaporated as they pressed closer to one and other, flesh rubbing against flesh. He hissed as her teeth sank into his bottom lip, rocking back on his heels as she leaned against him.

He barely registered the thump of his back connecting with the floor or the chill that swept across his bare flesh. He cupped her face and drew her flush against him, their lips locked together.

Breakfast could wait, work could wait, and the entire world could wait as far as Gregory was concerned. What mattered now, the only thought consuming his consciousness was Olivia. Olivia his life. Olivia his present.

Everyone and everything else was secondary.

Olivia his future.

* * *

Nancy looked up as the unusual sound of someone whistling in the hallway grew increasingly louder. It was easy to get used to the quiet of the executive floor. The partners often spent their days shut up behind closed door, buried behind briefs and on conference calls with clients. Quiet for concentration ensured victories in the courtroom. 

With a sigh of completion, she placed the last file in the cardboard carton and pushed the box aside as the door to the office suite opened. "Mr. Richards!" she exclaimed. "I was just going to send a courier to your home with the files you requested." She was taken aback by his nonchalant wave and the disinterested glance he tossed at the carton. "I didn't think you'd be coming in at all today," she called out as he strode into his office, a casual whistle rolling off his lips.

"There is one thing I need to see to personally," he said, the locks on his leather briefcase snapping open. He glanced up at her as he rifled through a stack of phone messages, sorting the important ones into briefcase. "Since I'll be working from home for the next week or so, you can feel free to use some of your vacation days. There's no need for you to be here if I'm not."

She blinked in surprise and managed to nod when she realized several moments had gone by and he was waiting for her response. "Yes sir. Thank you," she stammered. She glanced off to the side as he continued placing loose documents in his briefcase. "Is Mrs. Richards doing alright?" she asked cautiously.

He glanced up sharply and she took a nervous step back. Working as Gregory's secretary for nearly three years had earned her his professional trust, but rarely ever did he mention his personal life to her. Expecting a stern condemnation for overstepping a boundary, she was surprised when he grinned and closed his briefcase firmly.

"She's doing just fine, Nancy. Thank you for asking." He tucked his briefcase under his arm and continued, not even bothering to conceal his excitement, "We found out last night that we're expecting another child."

"Oh, Mr. Richards," she sighed as she followed him back to the outer office. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he said, setting his briefcase atop the carton. "We're both thrilled with the news."

"I can imagine. And I'm sure Caitlin must be looking forward to having a new sibling."

He looked up, chuckling as he leaned against her desk. "We actually haven't told her yet. She fell asleep so early and Olivia was so exhausted last night that we let it go. We're telling her tonight."

"Well," she smiled, "don't worry about anything here. I cleared your schedule, pushing back most of your appointments to next week. The updated calendar is in the box with your files."

"Thank you. I do appreciate everything you managed to do on such short notice." He glanced at the carton and briefcase stacked on her desk. "If you can have these stored in my car, there's a loose end I need to tie up."

* * *

Ruth Runyon looked up as Gregory strode into the office. She swallowed nervously and stood up, weakly explaining, "Mr. Richards, Ms. Russell is on a call and-" 

"This will just take a minute," he called out over his shoulder as he twisted the knob on the closed office door.

Cashlin's feet were propped on the corner of her desk, one silk encased leg crossed over the other. She looked up quickly when the door banged open, Gregory standing in the open doorway. Frowning in confusion, she waved him in and said into the phone, "An important matter just fell into my lap. I'll get back to you within the hour."

Uncrossing her legs as she hung up the phone, she stood up and smoothed a crease out of her skirt as she walked over to him. She backed into the door, pushing it closed as she said, "I didn't think you were here today."

"I'm not."

She eyed him carefully as she froze in place and grasped his arm. "You look pretty here to me."

He frowned and pulled his arm away from her touch. "I'm going to make this short." Her spine stiffened and she crossed her arms over her chest as he continued, "Our relationship has come to an end."

She moved away from the door, causing it to creak open slightly. "May I ask why?" she hissed.

He shrugged, a sure mark of disinterest if ever there was one. "There's no longer anything I need from it."

Her full lips pursed defiantly and anger flashed briefly in her gray eyes. A smirk spread across her lips and she mocked, "Olivia must have done a real number on you with her fainting spell. I never realized you were so henpecked."

Clouded danger simmered in his eyes and he took a deliberate step closer to her, his hand flying out to latch around her arm. Gripping tightly caused her to whimper and push away. He stared at her for a long moment, silently daring her to continue.

She wrenched away from him, rubbing her arm as she whispered angrily, "You'll be back." She backed away from him quickly as she continued, "You'll get tired of her again and you'll come crawling back."

He scoffed, clucking his tongue as he took hold of the doorknob. "Cashlin, Cashlin," he sighed. "You should know that I never crawl to anyone." He pulled open the door, causing Ruth to jerk away from where she stood eavesdropping and flee back to the safety of her desk.

Gregory barely paid her a glance though as he delivered his final blow to Cashlin. "Least of all to a person like you." And with a smugness that eluded most people, he left.

Cashlin rushed to the doorway in time to see him leave the outer office. She held the doorjamb for support, her knuckles turning ice white as her grip tightened. She could still feel his hand wrapped around her arm and vaguely realized that she'd have to wear long sleeved blouses, lest any nosy questions arise.

She glanced pointedly at Ruth, knowing that she must have heard some, if not all, of the conversation. "So help me God," she growled at her secretary, who shrank lower in her seat, "if I you breathe a word of this to anyone, you'll be scouring the employment ads quicker than you can think up a denial."

With a final glare, she backed into her office, the door slamming on the wood frame with a loud crack that reverberated throughout the room.


	8. B is for Bloodshed

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 8: "B is for Bloodshed"

I wince as my fingers probe the mottled bruising of my upper arm. The purple and blue handprint marks my flesh, a visible reminder of him…and his anger. Anger of my own flares, white-hot rage that simmers deep in the core of my soul. My heart pounds in my ears, my chest shaking with ragged breathing.

The overhead light reflects off the tile on the bathroom walls, glaring white as I jut my chin and glare at my reflection. The harsh light is unmerciful, mockingly pointing out the smudges of sleeplessness that pancake makeup covers during the day.

_She_ probably glows when she wakes in the morning.

My lips curl in a snarl as I imagine the way she smiles up at him, placing soft kisses on his eyelids to rouse him. Fingers of iron lock around a bottle of perfume he gave me as I see her resting her head on his shoulder, the way he smiles tiredly and runs his hand through her dark hair.

The glass bottle shatters on the counter, honey colored liquid rushing in waves across the surface and dripping down to the floor. I close my eyes against the freesia, the aroma not enough to turn my heart from stone. My fingers feel through the mess, brushing over the shards until one pricks me. It slips as I pick it up, the perfume slicker than black ice in the dead of winter.

I open my eyes as I hold it up to my face. The strong bouquet stings my eyes and they water instantly, smearing the black coal that lines them. The shard glistens in the unkind light and I think of the way the diamond on her left hand sparkled the last time I saw her. He had left with her then, taken her home at the end of the night, not even bothering to spare me a second glance.

The point of the broken glass presses into my stomach, creating a valley where it was normally smooth and hard. A dot of bright red escapes, snaking over goose pimpled flesh. The skin gives easily as I rake the glass across it, a thin trail of blood rising in its wake. I inhale sharply, staring down at the weeping cut.

The alabaster of my stomach is the perfect compliment. Another cut follows the first, blood smearing and staining the tips of my fingers. Perfume from the glass runs down my fingers, dripping into the wounds and causing them to howl in protest. I cut again and again and again, waiting for the slashes on my stomach to replace the slashes in my heart.

It doesn't happen.

The sliver of glass slides from my fingers, landing at my feet. I look up into the mirror, rage blinding my pitiful reflection. My hand rests over my stomach on a bed of warm blood as I think of the child slumbering in her womb.

His child.

Her child.

_Their_ child.

An animalistic cry of fury erupts from my lips as I ball my fist and slam it into my abdomen. It suffers the brunt of my abuse as I fall to my knees, thinking of all the ways he touched her. Flesh on flesh, breath meeting as their lips came together, hips rising to welcome him home.

I collapse on the floor, my chest shuddering as I struggled to breathe over hard sobs. The popcorn ceiling was blank above me, the tile floor like ice beneath my bare back. My rasps were larger than life, a gift from the acoustics in the bathroom.

My mind registers the unfairness of it all. Her pregnancy and his eagerness to stay with her…the end of us. Hot tears escape from my scrunched eyes and I roll into the fetal position, pressing my abusive fist into my chest.

It wasn't over. It _couldn't_ be over. It wasn't up to him to make that decision. I wouldn't let him.

Pushing myself up from the unforgiving floor, I gaze around at the remnants of my once tidy bathroom. The spilled perfume still reeked from its pool near the sink, fragments of glass littering the counter and floor. The blood was drying on my fingers and stomach, growing darker by the second.

I push open the door that led to the bedroom, ignoring how it cracked against the wall behind it. There'd be a mark tomorrow. It wouldn't be the only testimonial to my anger. Vengeance would be mine. He'll learn that soon enough.

It would _never_ be over.

* * *

Olivia stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, gazing at the interior. It was a good size room with large windows that overlooked the beach. The frond from a tall palm would partially block the afternoon sun and the room would have the ocean breeze all day long.

She rested her hand on the doorjamb, imagining where the furniture would go. The crib angled in the corner in front of the side window that overlooked the garden. A rocking chair and ottoman would have to go nearby and a changing table and dresser placed against the opposite walls.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist as an insistent pair of lips found the side of her neck. She sank back into his arms, welcoming the lack of distance as she closed her eyes. His arms tightened around her middle as his teeth grazed her soft skin.

"What do you think of baby animals?" she asked, her voice catching as his mouth followed the curve of her neck down to her shoulder.

"I'm allergic," he whispered in her ear as he leaned his head against hers.

He could hear her smile as she sighed, resting her arms on top of his. "As the _theme_…for the nursery."

"Nice, I suppose."

She wrenched her head, content to stay in his solid embrace for the moment. "Giraffes, monkeys, rabbits…I want a menagerie. And lots of color. Ones that would be good for either a boy or girl."

"You don't want to know this time?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she admitted softly, rubbing his arm gently. Heavy silence fell between them and she bit the corner of her lip. "But if you want to darling, we can."

"I can wait," he said, kissing the side of her head reassuringly.

"We found out with Caitlin," she explained as she turned around slowly, meeting his curious eyes. "It'll be a surprise, like Christmas…don't you think?"

He cupped her cheek lightly as he whispered, "It's fine with me." He looked past her, into the unoccupied room and asked, "So this'll be the nursery?"

She nodded eagerly, pulling him gently into the room. "I don't want to move Caity from her room and this one is the closest to ours." She watched as he glanced around critically and asked, "What do you think?"

He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "It's fine sweetheart. Whatever you want."

"Good," she said decisively. "I'll call the decorator tomorrow to set up an appointment for next week."

"You can't."

She frowned, her face wrinkling in confusion. "Why not?"

He tucked his hands causally into the pockets of his trousers, rocking lazily back on his heels. "You won't be here next week."

Her blue eyes widened in surprise and she folded her arms across her chest. "Darling, I don't understand…"

He reached out, taking her hand and drawing her closer. "We're going away," he said simply, leading her out of the guest room and down the quiet hall to their bedroom.

"Where?" She followed him into the darkened bedroom, blinking rapidly when he flicked the light switch as she sat down on the bed. A stack of glossy travel brochures streaked across the bedspread next to her. She jumped when he flopped down across from her, his upturned palm sweeping above the pamphlets.

"Wherever Olivia wants to go."

She hid a giggle of embarrassment behind her hand as she turned her eyes up to him. "What is all this?"

"An escape," he answered, picking up a pamphlet that promised balmy breezes and peace on a deserted beach. "Something that we desperately need."

Sliding down on the fluffy bedspread, she lay on her side and stared into his eyes. "Caitlin has school."

"She's in nursery school. There not going to teach everything in the week or so that we'll be gone." His laugh surprised her and she couldn't help but grin in response.

"What about work and-?" she asked after a brief pause, the smile fading from her face.

"It's handled," he interrupted as he nudged the brochures closer to her. "You're stalling."

Olivia closed her eyes obediently, her hand circling the air above the stack for a moment before he grabbed her hand. Her eyes popped open as he chastised gently, "No, no. That takes all the fun out of it." Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her up to the mountain of pillows piled in front of the headboard and nestled her against them.

"Decisions, decisions," she muttered playfully as she rifled through the stack, discarding the ones she decided against.

His hand threaded with hers as she shifted against his chest until she was comfortable. He took in the light scent of freesia and closed his eyes as he pressed his face into her fragrant hair.

All of his self-imposed reasons for cutting her out of his life for all the past months seemed irrational. A beautiful child, a second baby on the way…His life was slowly returning to the way it used to be. And Olivia, always Olivia. The one thing he tried to deny himself that his heart just wouldn't relinquish.

"Montserrat."

He looked up from her hair as she held up a brochure with a picture of a coastline on it, lush green of a forest and deep blue of the ocean on either side of a white sand beach. "The Caribbean?"

She sat up, kissing his chin and smiling sweetly as she sang, "You did say anywhere I choose."

He chuckled as she sat up, turning around to face him. "If you want beaches and the ocean, we might as well just stay in Sunset Beach."

"Oh no," she whispered, pining his wrists to his side as she sat on his legs. Her lips nipped at his for the briefest of moments as she continued, "I want to be alone. I don't want to see anyone we know. Just the three of us. And…the two of us…at night."

Her eyebrow arched tellingly as he cocked his head, his lips curling in a smirk. His legs shifted slightly beneath her and her grip tightened around his wrists.

"Whatever Olivia wants."

"Oh no," she corrected, leaning into him until she wasn't more than a breath away from him. "Whatever _we_ want."


	9. Solstice

(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 9: "Solstice"

The warm breeze brushed against Olivia's foot, ruffling the sheet covering her body. She turned on her side, her arm dangling across her face to protect her eyes from the sun. With a tired sigh, she reluctantly opened her eyes slightly.

Mid-morning sunshine filled the large bedroom, glowing against the white washed walls. The sheer curtains billowed inward from the breeze, bringing with it the salty scent of the sea. She pushed herself up, resting on her elbows in a half sitting position. Blinking sleepily, she took a deep breath and gazed around the master bedroom.

The bungalow was part of the resort, rented out to the high value patrons who wanted to both be catered to and have their privacy respected. The dozen or so of these thatched roof homes dotted the private coastline, sitting no closer than a mile to the next one. A wide veranda wrapped around the home, filled with cushioned lounge chairs that faced the spectacular beach scene on the north side. On the south side, a view of the rolling mountains with fleshy green and tropical vegetation could hold a person's interest for hours.

The interior was just as breathtaking. High vaulted ceilings stirred the air flowing in from the tall windows cut into the walls. Warm wooden shutters helped to block out the sun when it was at its hottest and the cool tile underfoot was a blessing. Tasteful watercolors depicting island life hung on the walls, deep splashes of yellows, greens, and blues streaking across the thick paper.

They were all so taken with their accommodations that they had barely left it. Neither adult had an issue forgoing any of the tourist attractions on the island to instead mosey back and forth between the spacious bungalow and the beach that was just a step off the back porch.

Olivia sat up slowly, her hair blowing in flyaway wisps around her face. A smile of contentment graced her lips, pulling the corners up to the heavens. The gentle breeze carried the sound of Caitlin's delighted shrieks up from the beach. It rang in her ears as she stood, stretching her arms high over her head as she walked over to the open doorway.

The soft gray sand glittered in the sunlight as baby waves of clear aquamarine and white foam rolled up the beach. Sand kicked up around the little girl's feet as she dashed around, dancing away from her father as he playfully lunged for her. She smiled as Gregory chased Caitlin to the water, returning her splashes with some of his own.

She ran a brush through her hair, the bristles smoothing out the tangles. Her swimsuit conveniently hung from the bed poster and it took only a moment to slip it on. She padded barefoot onto the porch, loosely tying a sarong around her waist.

The sun overhead had baked the sand, the resulting sensation no hotter than a warm bath. She inhaled deeply, taking in the intermingling scent of the fresh sea and the tempting lure of the flowers that grew alongside the house.

Gregory and Caitlin were wading in the shallow water, the little girl alternately stopping and starting as she bent to pick up shells that piqued her interest. The Caribbean sun had tanned his back and chest, flesh that rarely rested in its rays when he was home.

Olivia stood silently at the edge of the ocean, the water licking at her toes as she watched them. How different things were now. How different, yet familiar at the same time. The way he smiled at her echoed the early days of their relationship, when everything was new and exciting. When each new day was a promise of tomorrow, a gift to be cherished.

The wind stirred the pale blue material of the sarong against her leg as she sank into the warm sand. She drew her knees to her chest, folding her arms on top. Squinting into the distance, she watched the two figures wading in the shallow water. She'd be ready for them when they noticed her.

* * *

I take a sheet of thin paper out of the stationery box. It's pale pink, paler than the embarrassment of a schoolgirl. And thin, so thin that I fear handling it too much will tear it between my fingers.

It's the eternal metaphor of my life: ruining things that I've been given.

My jaw clenches as I set the thin sheet on the ink blotter, my pen poised for action. The ink would spew like venom, a poison that strikes at the core of their souls. How much it would rip her heart out, tearing through the thick muscle to render her useless…immobile…dead.

The fountain pen scratches across the paper, the nib pressed down. Dark red ink, the color of blood, flowed across the blush pink the way a river flowed between its banks. Fierce, determined, and strong.

It's all becoming clearer as each word is laid down on page. The words stand testament to everything, the way it all should be were it not for _her_ and _her brat_. He could leave her, that was as clear as crystal. But he couldn't leave his child.

My teeth grind together as I correct myself. _Children_.

I push back from the desk, barely stifling my cry of anguish. When would he see? When? Couldn't he see that she was just using him? Holding onto him the only way she knew how?

My hand runs through my hair, fighting the tangles that were proof of my sleepless nights. As brilliant as he was, he was such a man when it came to her. So gullible. It was so easy for him to fall charm to her tricks, for her to sink her oh-so-eager claws back into him. As if getting him to whisk her away to some near deserted island wasn't obvious enough.

He needed to hear this. He needed it written down. To stare it down and absorb every word, every nuance. It may take years, but he would thank me for this.

He has to.

* * *

"Mommy!"

The eager squeal rippled through the morning breeze as a wave did across the shore. Olivia looked up, waving slowly in response to her daughter's excited manner.

Caitlin jumped in the air, stumbling slightly as she landed. "Look what me and Daddy saw!" She held up her plastic bucket excitedly, proof of all they had witnessed. Charging through the sea, drops of water flew up around her and suspended in the air for the briefest of moments.

Olivia opened her arms as the small wet body hurled herself forward, knocking them both back to the sand. The warm sand cushioned her dark head as she smiled up at her daughter, who continued to jabber excitedly.

"Fish Mommy! Lots of fish! Can I bring one home? And look-" she dug frantically through the collection in her sand bucket, "at this!" She grinned broadly as she held up a seashell triumphantly, the ridges smoothed away by the ocean. "It's for you."

She thrust the coral colored shell at her mother, kissing her cheek loudly before jumping up to scamper back to the water's edge. "I'm going to find a lot more for you," she promised with a shout over her shoulder.

Olivia sat up with a chuckle as Gregory sank down next to her. "She gets that from you, you know."

A light dusting of sand stuck to his wet thighs as he leaned over, brushing her hair away from her shoulder. "That what?" he asked as his lips kissed their way from her shoulder to her neck.

She smiled, inching closer to him as he nibbled at the sweet spot on the base of her neck. "That- that…," she trailed off as she closed her eyes, allowing the bulk of her weight to rest against his chest.

"Since when do you have difficulty speaking?"

"Darling," she sighed with a hint of laughter in her voice as he lay on his side. She curled up against him, her head resting over his heart. "I lose myself around you. Even the simplest things, like remembering to breathe, become difficult."

A chuckle rumbled low in his throat, as his lips continued to brush across her warm flesh. "I take your breath away?" he asked, threading his fingers through her windblown hair.

"You always have." She turned her face, the corner of her lips curling up as the tips of his fingers grazed her cheek. "Does that surprise you?"

"Stunted breath? A weakness in the knees? Having your heart beat so fast you're sure it'll pound right out of your chest?" He paused, dropping his voice to a near whisper as he held her gaze. "Not at all."

* * *

It's early. The sun is barely in the sky, but I feel as if I've been awake for hours. My mind is sharp and my eyes see with a new clarity.

The offices of _Erickson Vickers_ are quiet. It'll be at least an hour before the first wave of employees pass through the glass doors of the lobby. For now, my heels click across the marble floor and I ignore the echo that bounces between the walls.

My office is close to his, bookends on the floor. It made it easy. A quick phone call and one of us was on our way, to the others office for the hottest of interludes. The way he'd throw me onto the desk, the papers scattering and fluttering to the floor. The lengths we'd go through to stifle the sounds of passion, less our daft secretaries overhear something they shouldn't.

I push open the door to his office and pass through the waiting area quickly. His office cool, not yet warmed by the sun. Crossing to the desk, I stare down at the pictures arranged neatly on the surface.

One is a posed shot of his daughter. The full pink skirt balloons out around her as she beams up at the camera. Baby diamond studs grace her ears, a thin gold bracelet cups her tiny wrist. Her hands are clasped beneath her chin, the hint of dimples imprint her cheeks. A barrette barely contains her long flaxen hair, loosely curled for the occasion.

My finger traces the corner of the gilded frame and I can't help but smile down at her. She was an adorable little girl. I wonder how she would warm to me after.

The smile fades as I take notice of the next photograph. It's the same shot of _her_ that was in the society column several months ago. He managed to obtain a color copy and here it was, displayed in it's place of honor on his desk.

I resist the urge to smash it, my fist pounding into it repeatedly until it ceases to be something that would be in a place of honor. I continue to glare at it, wondering if he experienced the same degree of rage when he looked at a picture of my husband.

Sweet, simple, unsuspecting Jack Russell. We just passed our four-month anniversary and already he was irritating the hell out of me. Perhaps he always had and I just never paid enough attention before. Marrying my high school sweetheart was the second biggest mistake of my life.

The first was that I had not been the one to marry Gregory.

I pop the locks on my briefcase and pull out the long envelope. The scent of freesia filled the empty room and I held the envelope beneath my nose for a long moment. Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and try to forget the way he dismissed me with his eyes the last time I saw him.

_She_ had bewitched him. And this letter was the only thing that could break the spell _she _had over him. Otherwise, he was lost to me.

Forever.

* * *

Caitlin was frolicking in the surf, her long braid flopping against her back. She would stop periodically and turn back to her parents, who were still sitting on the beach, and wave wildly.

Gregory waved and wrapped his arms back around Olivia, returning his hands to her lower abdomen. She sighed contentedly, biting into the polished apple with a loud crunch. "You know darling," she said in between bites, "it's been really incredible. I've hardly been sick at all."

"Compared to how ill you were with Caitlin, you're right," he agreed.

She laughed knowingly, holding up the apple to his mouth for him to bite. "I was so sick with her." She turned slightly to face him. "I was so sure that I was just going to vomit out my insides." She shook her head ruefully, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh of the fruit. "And how swollen my feet became-"

"To the point where the only shoes that would fit you were my old loafers," he picked up the story, laughing with her as she nodded enthusiastically.

Olivia wrapped the core in a napkin and tossed it aside with the other trash. "Oh but darling, she was worth it, wasn't she?" She smiled over at Caitlin, who was now dancing in the waves as she eagerly chased a piece of driftwood.

His breath tickled her ear as he murmured his agreement. He squeezed her closer, kissing the side of her head softly.

She reached up to cup his cheek as twilight swept across the sky. "I want to stay this way forever."

He covered her hand with his, dropping them both to his chest. "We will," he promised her in a whisper. "We've got the whole world at our fingertips, Liv. It's ours for the taking."

She turned around, resting her forehead against his. "I just want this. I just want peace."

"You'll have it," he assured her. "That and more. So much more. And no one is going to take that away from you."

She leaned closer, kissing his lips softly. "From _us_, darling. From us."


	10. A Change in the Wind

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 10: "A Change in the Wind"

"Well, look who finally decided to come home!"

Olivia smiled as she followed Caitlin into the _Waffle Shop_, smoothing down her windblown hair. Bette stood up from the booth and hugged her friend tight, pulling back after a moment to appraise her. "Tanned, rested, and decidedly pregnant-," she diagnosed before adding,"-_someone_ had a good vacation."

With a knowing smile, she slid into the booth and gently pried a chocolate dipped cookie from Caitlin's hot little hands. "It was wonderful," she sighed as she leaned back, folding her hands over her expanding belly.

"I bet," Bette winked, bringing a glass of iced tea to her lips.

Caitlin kneeled on the seat, peering into the baby seat that sat on the table. She frowned at the Emily, who rested placidly in the carrier. The ten week old watched the older child with dark hazel eyes and promptly opened her mouth, spitting up the remnants of her last feeding.

As Bette leaned over to wipe the baby, Caitlin turned to her mother. With a disgusted look on her face, she asked, "Is our baby going to do that?"

Olivia stifled a smile, running her hand over her daughter's flaxen hair. "Probably." While her daughter continued to grimace, she nudged her out of the booth and said, "Go over to the counter, Caity. You can ask for your milkshake."

"Can I get chocolate with sprinkles?" she asked as climbed down.

She nodded and watched her daughter skip over to the register, climbing atop the bar stool to lean on the counter. "Is Elaine here?" she asked softly.

Bette nodded, cocking her head in the direction of the kitchen. "New cook. She's starting him today."

Olivia nodded, absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Let us hope that he knows how to prepare a proper waffle."

"Honey, at this point, I'm just hoping for one that's edible," Bette deadpanned. "But enough of chit-chat, let's get down to the nitty gritty."

"Nitty gritty?" Olivia wondered aloud.

She rolled her eyes as she gently rocked the carrier. "Hello Livy! Where is your head at! You tell me you're pregnant one day and the next, Gregory whisks you away for a three-week Caribbean vacation. Now you come back, looking better than you ever have and-"

"That's because I am," she interrupted. "I'm looking better because I'm the happiest that I've ever been."

"Now, this is what I'm talking about."

Olivia sat up, resting her elbows on the table as she cupped her face. "How do you describe how wonderful perfection is?"

"I can do without the philosophy, thank you."

Now it was Olivia's turn to roll her eyes as she brushed a flyaway lock of hair from her eyes. "It's like the last year never happened. It's gone," she explained, snapping her fingers for emphasis, "without a trace."

Bette's eyebrow arched, the thump of the rocking carrier filled the sudden silence. "Forgotten everything, hmm? All the hurt, all the lonely nights…"

Olivia's dark hair flew out from her head as she shook it. "And Gregory…" she smiled to herself as her words faded away. "He's himself again. He talks to me again. We laugh together," she whispered. She pressed her palm to her stomach and smiled as a pressure as light as the fluttering of wings rubbed against her. "He looks at me again, _really_ looks at me."

"And?"

The faintest blush warmed her cheeks and she cleared her throat. "And he makes love to me again."

"No more 'wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am's'?"

"That sounds so crude," she groaned.

"Olivia," Bette said seriously, dropping her voice to the softest of whispers, "how many times have you called me, practically in tears, because of something Gregory's said or done…or not done?"

"That was then," she argued, her fingers drumming the table. "This is now and it isn't like that anymore. He _loves_ me."

"Sure, he loves you," Bette shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And you love him. But that never stopped him from treating you worse than he would a stranger on the street."

Olivia's palm slammed into the table, the shock of the impact shooting up her arm. The silverware jumped, clattering against the table as Emily's heavy eyes flew open. "Damnit Bette," she hissed, cradling her throbbing wrist as the infant began to wail.

Bette muttered a curse under her breath as she scooped her baby daughter in her arms. She held the child close to her face, coaxing her back to a state of calm. She held Emily to her shoulder, rubbing her back comfortingly until the tiny body began to still.

As the few patrons in the restaurant turned away from the racket, Olivia forced her eyes down. She flexed her wrist and sighed heavily as she ran her free hand through her dark hair. "I'm sorry," she said flatly as Bette returned the still whimpering infant to her carrier.

Bette shook her head, waving her silent with her hand. "Don't. That's what I get for talking first, thinking second."

"He _does_ love me," Olivia said after the silence became to uncomfortable for her to bear.

Bette's sigh suggested that she didn't want to jump back into their previous conversation. Angering one of the few close friends that she had was not one of her favorite things to do. So all she said was, "I know."

"He does," she said once more for finality.

"Olivia, I'm only going to say this because I love you too much not to." She paused until Olivia looked up, blue eyes meeting green. "Don't forget the past because you're desperate for him to love you again. It'll come back to haunt you," she finished quickly as Paula Stevens led Caitlin back to the booth. "Here come the two prettiest girls in Sunset Beach."

Paula smiled bashfully, tugging on the hem of her worn t-shirt. "My mom said that she would be right out with Caitlin's milkshake."

Olivia snapped to attention, still reeling from Bette's last statement. "That's fine." She shifted over, leaving ample room for Caitlin to sit next to her.

"I told Paula we're having a baby," Caitlin babbled as kneeled next to her mother, cupping her face with tiny hands. "She said that babies cry a lot. Do they Mommy?"

Olivia nodded distractedly as Elaine bustled through the swinging door. "I'm sorry," she gushed as she placed a tall glass in front of Caitlin and another in front of Paula. "I finally filled the part-time cook position and he's a little nervous."

"Why?" Bette asked as she made room for Elaine to sit next to her. "This is Sunset Beach, not Newport Beach."

Elaine shrugged and reached for Olivia's hand. "Bette told me the good news!" she explained, squeezing her hand affectionately. "Congratulations Olivia. I'm very happy for you."

Olivia smiled, whispering her thanks as she pulled her hand back. Elaine sighed happily, folding her arms against her chest as she leaned back. "How did Gregory take the news?"

Caitlin wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and said, "Daddy's happy. He kisses Mommy's tummy all the time."

Elaine chuckled and even Bette couldn't help but join in as Olivia hugged her daughter to her. "As you can see we're all thrilled with the news," she added.

"Apparently," Bette said as she recovered from the giggles. She covered Olivia's hand with her own and said quietly, "We're all happy for you."

Olivia nodded, gripping Bette's hand tightly as Elaine asked, "Have you found out if it's a boy or girl yet?"

She shook her head seriously. "No, we want to be surprised this time, but…"

The duo on the other side of the table leaned in expectantly, waiting for the next words. She grinned and whispered, "It's going to be a boy this time. I can feel it."

"Well it had better be a boy," Bette joked. "One of us has to break up this streak of daughters that we've got going."

Olivia's eyes flew to Elaine, who sucked in her breath sharply. Bette's eyes widened and she turned abruptly to the woman next to her. "Oh Lainie," she gasped, "I'm sorry." She touched her shoulder only to have Elaine jerk away. "I'm so sorry."

"I just remembered something I needed to tell the new cook," Elaine stuttered as she stood, gripping the back of the booth until her knuckles went white. She fled from the table, smoothing down the bright red apron cinched at her waist. Paula glanced once around the table before pushing her milkshake away and followed her mother back into the kitchen.

Caitlin looked up from her milkshake, melted chocolate staining her mouth and lips. "Where's everybody go?"

Bette hid her face in her hands, a muffled groan escaping from the sides. "Me and my mouth," she moaned. "It's a curse." She peeked out at Olivia from the between her fingers.

Olivia's hand trembled as she patted Caitlin's head. "Finish your milkshake, Caity." Her stomach flipped and she covered her hand with her mouth. She looked up at Bette, who looked as pale as she felt. "We're both cursed for what we did that night," she whispered shakily.

* * *

"I thought I told you to use your vacation days," Gregory chided Nancy as she followed him into his study. 

"Oh, I did," she assured him. "But someone needed to sort the mail and your phone messages."

He sank into the leather armchair, eyeing her warily. "Well, let's have them."

Nancy followed him around the desk, placing different bundles of paper before him. "The ones with a green dot in the corner are the ones you'll want to return first thing tomorrow," she explained as she passed him the thick stack. "I sorted the mail similarly. Priority correspondence on top, followed by standard business and then junk mail."

"Remind me that next time I go away for three weeks to check in periodically. Then I won't come back to this," he said, extending his hand over the crowded desk.

"It wouldn't be much of a vacation if you kept checking in here," she pointed out.

He nodded and sat up, rifling through the nearest pile. "That was my thinking this time."

Nancy picked up a lone piece of mail that was separate from the piles in the center. "This was marked 'confidential'." She passed him the legal sized envelope and added, "It was hand delivered."

Gregory dropped what he was holding and took the envelope from her, giving it a quick once over before reaching for the silver letter opener. "By whom?"

"That's what's odd," she confessed. "It was just left on your desk. I first saw it when I came back from a long weekend."

"Hmmm," he grunted as he wedged the long blade beneath the flap and sliced through the adhesive.

The overwhelming scent of freesia filled the office, newly freed from the confines of the envelope. The thin paper crinkled in his hands as he unfolded it, dark red ink standing out from the pale pink background. His eyes narrowed at the handwriting as he skimmed the letter.

_Waiting and wanting, I long for your touch. Gently at first, then rougher. Hands tearing at clothes, flesh against flesh. _

_On the edge, at the brink of desire…the bloom of gratification._

His jaw tightened as did the lock his hands had on the fragile paper. It tore slightly, a loud rip that echoed in the charged silence.

Nancy saw the mounting fury that blossomed on Gregory's face and she instinctively took a step back. He continued to read, the paper contorting within his grasp as he increased his hold on it.

_Your taste, your touch is all that sustains me. _

_Lying alone in the bed where we spent so many nights is a fate worse than a thousand deaths. _

_Come back. Come home._

_I won't let you go. You are mine._

He stared down at the paper as the words sank into his consciousness. White hot anger pulsed through his veins, the words swimming together on the paper before him. Red mixing with the pink, swirling together into a bottomless abyss.

Feeling Nancy's eyes on him, he gently placed the letter upside down in front of him. Forcing a smile that would fool even the most hardened skeptic, he stood slowly. "I believe the letter was delivered here by mistake. The contents were not intended for my eyes. There was no name on the envelope, was there?"

Nancy frowned and reached for the discarded envelope. "Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully as Gregory snatched up the envelope before she got to it. "I mean-"

"Positive, Nancy," he said strongly causing the young woman to take another step back. "The letter is not for me." He folded the paper up again and pushed it into his top drawer. "Now you go on home and enjoy your last night of freedom. It'll be a full day tomorrow."

She nodded, pulling the wide strap of her purse up onto her shoulder as he led her out of the study and down the hall. "Yes, sir. Have a good night."

Gregory closed the front door firmly behind his secretary, his hand resting on the handle. He stood still before he balled his fist and slammed it into the solid wood. "Cashlin," he grunted as a trail of warm blood trickled down from his torn knuckles.


	11. Memineris & Other Lies We Tell Ourselves

_**NOTE: This chapter is RATED ADULT for sexual content.**_

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 11: "Memineris and Other Lies We Tell Ourselves"

The repetitive pounding on the front door thundered through the home and to the patio, where Cashlin Russell lay stretched on a lounge chair. She ripped off her sunglasses and wrenched around, glaring at the source of the offensive noise ringing in her ears. With a groan of irritation, she pushed herself up from the chair and stalked through the immaculately white living room to the door.

The incessant pounding grew louder and she rolled her eyes, gathering her long hair over one shoulder. "Damnit, Jack," she hissed, gripping the handle and yanking the door open. "Remember your keys-"

Her annoyance faded instantly, a pleased smile spreading across her face. "Gregory!" she exclaimed, stepping aside to welcome him in. He entered silently and she detected the faint traces of his cologne as he passed her. She closed the door and turned back to him, saying, "I see you changed your mind-"

He grabbed her arms, shoving her back into the unforgiving embrace of the wood door. "Are you insane!" he growled, shaking her violently.

Her teeth clattered together, his fingers tightening around her arm. "Gregory? What are you-"

"NO MORE!" he thundered, his eyes blazing with anger as they moved over her face. She shrank from his gaze, turning her head away from him. He grabbed her chin, forcibly turning her back to him. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears of fear as his fingers dug into her flesh. "All of this ends…NOW."

An order, not a request.

Her head shook from side to side. "What are you-" Her words segued into a gasp of pain as his hand fell from her chin to her throat. "Gregory," she whimpered, her voice cracking as a tear escaped from her eye.

"You _will_ stay away from me," he said softly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He increased the pressure around her neck slightly when she parted her lips to speak. "You _will_ stay away from my house. The only time I _expect_ to see you is at the office and even then, you _will_ stay away from me. Is that understood?"

She nodded and his hand fell away from her throat. She turned into the wall, sucking huge breaths into her aching lungs as he spat out, "Forget the past. We're finished."

Her clenched fists rubbed against the wall as he flung the door open and stalked out of the house. She peaked around the doorframe, watching him walk down the driveway to his idling Jaguar. The squeal of his car's tires replaced the sound of her pounding heart in her ears as she brushed hot tears off her cheeks.

She closed the door and collapsed against it, sinking to the floor as she hid her face in her hands. "Bastard," she hissed.

* * *

Olivia sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, a crocheted blanket draped over her legs. There was a coolness in the air, a harbinger that the winter months were almost upon them. The change of seasons was a subtle one in southern California. The sun felt less strong, as if it had tired itself by shining so brightly throughout the summer. The wind kicked up more frequently and heavy rains drenched the shore. She pulled the blanket up to her chin as she thought of the rain and scooted down beneath it.

Caitlin played on the rug in front of her, staging a conversation between two of her dolls. Olivia smiled to herself and closed her eyes, letting her daughter's idle chatter wash over like the way the warm sun did in Montserrat. She sighed to herself, reliving the relaxing weeks she had spent on the Caribbean island in her head.

It seemed as if time had stood still while they where there, so isolated were they from the world they knew. The progression of time was marked by the dawn and setting of the sun. They had needed nothing more than that…and each other.

She opened her eyes slowly, staring at the framed photos on the coffee table. The world around her was falling into twilight, casting sunlight in burnt reds and warm oranges into the living room. A fading beam caught on the silver of the ornate frame holding their wedding photograph.

For the longest time it seemed that the happy couple encased in the glass were strangers, the obligatory models that came with every new frame. Who where they? Where had they gone? Countless afternoons had found her sitting with the frame in her lap, asking it those very questions. Her eyes had followed the happiness radiating from the picture to the present, a cruel reminder of all that had changed.

She hadn't searched the picture lately; there was no need. Now it was the photo that paled in comparison to the life it was an ornament in. She felt a small measure of triumph in that, that she had claimed victory over the competition of the past.

"Bette's wrong," she whispered to herself, turning her eyes away from the table. "Sometimes you have to just move on…and forget the past."

The most vital question remained unasked. But at what price? At what price did one sacrifice the lessons learned by the pain of the past? To not remember and learn was to stack the chips against oneself. The harder the effort to conceal what was true and necessary, the hard the fall. And it was the fall that killed.

A creak rippled through the peaceful silence as the front door closed behind Gregory. "Hi Daddy!" Caitlin squealed as she turned around, leaving her toys behind. She skipped over to him as Olivia sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She watched carefully as he patted Caitlin on the head, bending down to kiss her cheek instead of scooping her up into his arms as was the custom.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly. He nodded, grasping her shoulder and squeezing lightly as Caitlin returned to her dolls. She looked up and met his eyes, troubled by the hollowness she found. "Gregory?"

He knelt down to her level, resting his arm on the soft leather of the sofa. She reached up, cupping his face with her hand. He closed his eyes, turning in to the radiating warmth of her hand. Smiling encouragingly, she leaned in and rested her forehead against his. "What's happened?" she asked softly.

His response was a sigh, deep and long as he exhaled. "The vacation's over," he said with a simple quietness that nearly broke her heart. He pulled back slightly, meeting her still questioning eyes with a tired smile that didn't quite reach his lips.

She sighed her agreement, lifting her head slowly. "Darling," she gasped, noticing his bruised hand for the first time, "what happened to you?" She sat up and took his hand, cradling it like it was a small animal.

He shook his head disinterestedly. "The damn car trunk came down on it," he lied, wincing slightly as she probed the broken flesh carefully.

She glanced up apologetically, biting the corner of her lip. "Sorry," she whispered as Caitlin toddled over to them.

"Daddy has a boo-boo?" she asked solemnly as she stood next to her mother.

"Just a little one," Olivia assured her as she stood. "Honestly darling, you could have broken it."

"It's fine," he insisted as he wiggled his fingers slightly. "See?"

She frowned doubtfully, noting the way his jaw tightened when his fingers moved. "Ice for the swelling and a bandage to stabilize it," she diagnosed, putting her hands on his shoulders and turning him to the stairs. "Upstairs," she ordered.

He glanced over his shoulder, an amused look on his face. "Yes ma'am," he conceded

* * *

Gregory sat back against the tile, hot water bubbling around him. A wall of steam rose from the hot tub, twisting and curling against the night sky. He braced his arms on the concrete lip, sinking deeper into the swirling water. A bag of ice sat on his damaged hand while the fingers of his good hand wrapped around a wine glass.

He leaned his head back, staring up at the starry night. A thousand stars glittered across the sky, pinpricks in the black. The barest of breezes swept over the shoreline, rustling the frond of the palm trees. The world was at it's best, quiet and at peace.

But for Gregory, the discord remained. He felt it in the headache licking at his eyes, burning them to the quick. He felt it in the tension wrapping around his back, contorting the muscles that lay beneath his flesh. His body was the living embodiment of frustration, of one who had an internal storm raging within.

It was all a headache, one big headache. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that one action would alleviate the pressure in his head and the rest of the problems that cropped up. "Three weeks," he grumbled to himself, taking a deep sip of the burgundy.

Three weeks. It should have been long enough for her to get over it- get over _him_- and move on with the rest of her life. But like a cruel curse, it seemed to only worsen. He had burned the letter, but the words were imprinted in his mind as clearly, as if he was seeing them on paper.

Delusion reeked from the pale pink paper, but that wasn't the biggest irritation. It was her simpering words, the presumption that she was all he needed. As if _she_ was his oasis in the desert. And her insufferable clinginess was a weakness and would have done little to better her case in his eyes had this been a real battle of the heart. The absurdity of it all was almost too much to stand.

He snorted into his glass, glaring out at the horizon. "It's over now," he assured himself, stretching out and letting the heat do its best. He raised his glass and tipped it to the sky, as if that would ensure his fervent wish true.

"You're talking to yourself? Now I'm _really_ worried."

He glanced up, following the length of Olivia with his eyes. She stood over him majestically as still as stone, though the teasing smile warmed her eyes. He shrugged, setting the wine glass aside to stroke the arch of her foot. "Me alone is a poor substitute for your company."

Her hand caught the belt of her robe and she swung it teasingly in the night. "You, sir, flatter me."

He cocked his head, his lips curved wickedly as he smirked. His fingers brushed over the knob of her ankle and slid up her calf. "I can do more than flatter you," he promised, his eyes lighting up promisingly. He patted the ground invitingly and kicked his head back to the hot tub.

She grinned, undoing the knot too slowly for his liking. He reached up and tugged on the hem, the water staining the lavender silk. She clucked her tongue, shaking her head slowly. "All good things to those that wait."

He chuckled aloud and watched as she eased the robe off her shoulders. The lavender stood out against her skin, drawing deeper color from her eyes. With ease and a practiced hand, the belt loosened and the robe fell open. It fluttered silently to the patio, dancing on the air as it fell.

She dipped her foot gingerly into the swirling water. He followed the line of her leg, the silver moonlight highlighting the pile of hair on her head. She sank beneath the bubbles, sliding around to the opposite side of the hot tub.

"You're a cruel woman, Liv," he muttered as she stretched out, her legs bridging the gap between them. Her legs bobbed weightless in the water, her foot arching as she pressed it to his bare thigh.

She smirked knowingly when he grabbed her foot, wrapping his hand around her ankle and using his grasp to pull her closer. With a soft giggle, she settled in his lap as one of his arms went around her waist. Her arms wove around his neck, beads of water dripping down his neck. His other hand brushed her side, trailing over the soft curve of her breast and she jerked at the shock of cold that went through her.

He smiled apologetically, dropping his bruised hand beneath the steamy water to take the chill off it. Her fingers dragged through his hair, parting it into thick clumps as she gazed into his eyes. "Better?" he asked, brushing his now warm hand over her lips.

She nodded, catching the tip of his index finger in her mouth. She sucked on it for a long moment, her tongue trailing a circuit around his flesh before releasing it. "Still think I'm cruel?" she wondered, pressing her palms into his shoulders as he leaned forward.

"Convinced of it," he mumbled half-heartedly as his lips found her neck. She laughed, twisting forward and nipping him lightly on the ear. His hands dipped beneath the water, gripping her hips and pulling her as close as her expanding stomach would allow. Her breasts flattened against his wet chest, their hearts pounding in near unison.

He pushed away from the wall, sitting on the stone ledge as her long legs wrapped around his waist. She gasped aloud and her head fell back as his mouth worked its way down her neck. He braced her up, feasting on her breasts with an attention only he could lavish on them. She bit the corner of her lip, squeezing her eyes shut as his tongue sent her pulse racing. Her hand cupped the back of his neck, her back arching with pleasure.

"Oh God," she moaned, her hand tightening around his neck. Her nails dug into his flesh, leaving behind crescent shaped imprints.

After a final nibble, he glanced up and cupped her face. "I think I can do better than him," he whispered, placing the softest of kisses on her face. She sighed against his lips, grabbing his face in her hands.

Their mouths melded together, the pressure in his head moving elsewhere. The tub grew hotter by the second, wet flesh against wet flesh. She shivered as his fingers danced over her skin, caressing her all over. Her heart pounded, her skin tingled and she gasped as he spread her legs, slipping inside.

Gregory held her closer, feeling the pleasure mounting in her. He knew it in her shallow breathing, in the way she gripped his shoulders. Hers was the only need he wanted, the one he needed. _She_ was his oasis, the only one that his soul required for thriving.

Pounding echoed in her ears, the sound of her beating heart the only thing she heard. She squeezed his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. Convulsions washed in waves through her body and he allowed himself a grunt of satisfaction as she went slack against him.

The bubbles continued to swell and burst, life seemingly going on. Olivia rested her head against him, raising a shaky hand to brush a wet piece of hair from her neck. Her stilted breathing hit his neck and he rubbed her back comfortingly. He walked his fingers up her back, following the curve of her spine. He tilted her face up to him, kissing her softly.

There was nothing else for him to say, the kiss said it all: I adore you. I need you. I love you.


	12. Hang a Shining Star

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 12: "Hang a Shining Star"

"Nancy!" Gregory bellowed, shoving files into his briefcase. "Where are they?"

The frazzled secretary dashed back into the office, wringing her hands. "Mr. Richards, they were on my desk, I swear! I don't know what could've happened to them." She shrank against the doorjamb when the lid of his briefcase came down hard. "Mr. Richards, I'm sor-"

He held up his hand, irritation darkening his eyes. "Don't," he snapped, grabbing the briefcase and striding around his desk. "I don't want to hear the word 'sorry' come out of your mouth."

She frowned, her stomach flipping as he glared at her and continued, "First phone messages disappeared, then files. Now the affidavits. What the hell is wrong with you, Nancy?"

"Mr. Richards-

"Without those affidavits, the case is set back for weeks while we retake all the depositions. Find them," he ordered, turning back to his briefcase.

Nancy nodded, swallowing past the rock in her throat as she closed the door to his office. She exhaled shakily, burying her face in her hands.

"Nancy?"

She peeked through her fingers, lowering her hands slowly when she saw who it was. "Ruth. Hi."

Ruth gave a small smile, pushing the glasses back into place with her finger. "You okay?" she asked, looking past Nancy to the closed door behind her.

She sighed, collapsing into her chair. Staring blankly at her desk, she replied in a hollow voice, "The affidavits for Mr. Richards's case. They're gone."

Ruth's lips curled into a circle of surprise as she followed her arms across her chest. "Oh, Nancy…"

"I know," she snapped, looking up. "It's the worst! I just don't understand how it happened! They were right here before lunch!" She smacked the spot on her desk for emphasis, groaning in frustration.

"They'll turn up," she said, patting Nancy's shoulder. "Remember the time I misplaced the Mexico receipts? I thought Ms. Russell was going to have my head for sure."

Nancy shook head as the door to Gregory's office opened. "This is different, Ruth."

He eyed the women for a brief moment before he brushed past them. "I'm in court for the rest of the day."

"Yes, Mr. Richards," Nancy gushed as she scrambled to her feet. "And I'll find the affidavits, I promise."

Gregory paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. "Good," he said simply. "Because if you don't, there's no need for you to come back in the morning."

Her eyes widened when he left and she covered her mouth. "Oh, god. This isn't happening," she cried, the color draining from her face as she turned to Ruth. "I can't lose this job. I've got rent, car payments, acting class tuition. What am I going to do?"

"Don't worry. We'll find them," Ruth promised, taking Nancy's hand. "He can't fire you."

"Oh, really?" she scoffed, patting her eyes.

"Yes, really. You shouldn't let him bully you." She squeezed Nancy's hand for emphasis and stated, "He can't just walk over people like that."

* * *

Gregory stabbed the button with his finger and waited impatiently for the elevator. "Uh oh," a voice from behind him said. "You don't look very happy."

He turned slowly, his face blank as he growled in the barest of whispers, "Cashlin."

She smirked. "I haven't seen you since I got back."

"Funny how things work out like that."

She glanced around the hallway and noting their seclusion, she stepped closer to him. "Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?" She was barely a breath away from him as she asked softly, "Did you have a lot to be thankful for?"

He glared, moving back. "What part of 'stay away' did you not understand?"

Cashlin sighed, exasperated. "And here I am, under the impression that I was assisting a colleague."

"You're really easier to deal with when you make sense," he snapped, pressing the down button again.

"Lose anything recently?"

Gregory turned back to her slowly, noticing for the first time the folder she held in her hand. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your affidavits," she replied simply. She held them out, jiggling them temptingly. "They somehow ended up on my desk."

"Somehow," he repeated, without awe. He reached for them, only to have her move them out of his grasp.

"You've barely said two words to me these last few weeks."

The elevator pinged and the doors rolled open slowly. "Going down?" the operator asked as he stepped out."

Gregory nodded and snatched the folder out of Cashlin's tight grasp. "Two words too many," he explained, stepping onto the elevator. Her glare shot out at him, her stare never leaving him until the doors closed on her.

* * *

"Ready?" Gregory called from behind the tree.

Caitlin squirmed excitedly next to Olivia, bringing a smile to her face. "We are."

The lights sprang to life, glowing brightly against the green boughs. "Perfect," she said as Caitlin clapped her approval.

Caitlin slid off her mother's lap, hopping excitedly from foot to foot. "Is it Christmas now?"

"Not for a few more weeks, Caity," Olivia laughed, holding out a small plate. "Here, have a cookie." She pushed herself up from the sofa with a sigh as Caitlin took the plate.

"Are you alright?" he asked, holding out his arms as she leaned against him.

She smiled as his arms wrapped around her. "I'm exhausted," she confessed through a yawn.

"Well, here's an idea for you: go to bed."

Olivia shook her head. "Oh no." She gestured to the boxes piled high in the corner of the living room. "All the decorations-"

"Can wait until tomorrow," he interrupted, his hand trailing the curve of her back.

"I suppose. I just had my heart setting on decorating early. This is the first year that Caity is old enough to understand Christmas and I want it to be special for her." She lifted her head from his shoulder, her blue eyes clouded with exhaustion. "I just can't keep my bloody eyes open."

"That settles it. Off to bed with you." He looked down at Caitlin, who sat on the floor licking shortbread crumbs off her fingers. "Cait, come help." His smile met Olivia's chuckle as the little girl jumped up from the floor. "Be a good girl and run upstairs. Get Mommy's nightgown and robe ready for her."

The child nodded eagerly and scampered up the stairs, her braided pigtails flopping against her shoulders. "Gregory," Olivia began, gasping when he swung her up into his arms. "What are you doing!" she exclaimed.

He clucked his tongue as he walked out of the living room and up the stairs. "Liv, where's your sense of romance?"

"I'm more concerned with your back," she said softly, a soft grin lighting up her face as she wrapped her arm around his neck.

"But when is the last time I had the chance to sweep you off your feet?"

* * *

I creep closer to the open patio door, crouching in the shadow of darkness. His voice disappeared up the stairs, his arms full of _her_. A light flickers on from above, casting light onto the patio. With a gasp, I scoot inside, pressing myself into the wall.

The living room welcomes me, warm light from the lamps spilling onto the furniture. A tall fir tree stands in the corner, its aroma slowly blanketing the room. My hand skims over the polished wood of one of the end tables as I tentatively step further into the room.

It's a lovely home, beautiful but clearly lived in. Toys are scattered on the floor. Family photos are displayed on every available surface, chronicling every stage of his daughter's life. And _her_.

My face wrinkles as I eye one of them, his arms wrapped around _her_ as he hugs _her_ close. In the photo, her smile is bright as she reaches up for him, his face buried in her mass of hair. A sour taste fills my mouth and I lick my lips as I turn the frame away.

I hear the distant sound of footsteps above and my heart flutters as I hear the echo of his voice. Reaching into my purse, I feel for the corner of the envelope and pull it out. The scent of freesia wafts from the pink paper and I glance around.

The sound of his voice comes closer and I hear light footsteps on the stairs. I wedge the envelope between the frame and glass of a nearby photo, covering _her_ face. A wave of satisfaction overwhelms me as I turn and flee, my hair flying around the corner of the door as I hear something land on the floor.

Shadows become my cover once again as I watch his daughter skip across the room. A light breeze carries her soft humming to my ears and I smile, watching as she cradles her doll like a newborn.

"Caitlin," I hear him say and I shrink back further into the darkness, "can you help me with a secret?"

"How?"

I watch her stand next to him in front of the lit tree. "Let's hang all the ornaments tonight. It'll be a nice surprise for Mommy in the morning."

"I wanna put the start on top," Caitlin declared.

I sit there, crouched in the darkness watching them. My legs drift into numbness as they unpack the decorations, hanging crystal snowflakes and shiny balls from the branches. His daughter coos at each one, passing their beauty reluctantly to him before she reaches for the next one.

After long, she pops the top on a long box and claps excitedly. "The star, Daddy! The star!"

I sit up, my smile matching his as he crouches next to her. She gently lifts the glittering star from the box, holding it triumphantly. He picks up her high, sitting her on his shoulders. Her little arms reach out, the star dangling from her fingers as she places it on the top. "I did it!" she cried.

He swings her down, kissing her cheek. "You did great," he assured her, moving back to admire the tree in all its splendor.

"Is Mommy gonna be real surprised?" She wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

"She is…," he promised, his voice trailing away.

I crane my neck to see, leaning forward into a patch of light that comes through the glass door. His daughter is sliding from his arms and he's reaching down, pulling my envelope from the frame.

"What's that, Daddy?" I hear her ask and I bite my lip, watching as he rips the envelope open. "Is it from Santa?" she asks hopefully.

I see his jaw tighten and I wait, never taking my eyes off him. He's grimacing so intently that his lips have disappeared into his frown. His eyes rise, turning to the open patio door. I scramble away, crawling through the bushes as he bursts through the doorway a moment after the patio lights came on.

"Daddy?" I hear her call as I blink against the brightness.

"Stay inside, Caity," he orders, turning his gaze to the leafy bush I hid behind. He scans the perimeter of the patio before he looks back at the letter still clutched in his hand. The paper crumples in his hand, collapsing into a ball that he buries in his pocket.

He goes back into the house, closing the door firmly behind him. The lights stay on and I roll on my side, crawling on my stomach back around to the front of the house. My legs tingle painfully as the life returns to them. My fingers claw through the grass, dirt staining my palms.

I think of the mess I've become and I shake my head. He's done this to me.

* * *

"Good night, princess," Gregory called from the doorway of her bedroom. Caitlin's fingers curled into a tired wave, her blonde hair a halo around her head. He closed the door softly, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The crumpled paper brushed against his fists as he walked down the hall to his bedroom.

Residual anger simmered in his chest, drawing his breath in short intakes. He paused at the door to his bedroom, the balled letter burning a whole in his pocket. He pulled his hand out, pushing open the door slowly.

Pale moonlight fell in through the window, caressing Olivia's sleeping form. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to shift the mattress. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands for a long moment. The headache licked at his eyes, snaking around to the back of his head.

_Just when everything is finally as it should be again_, he thought to himself as he stood slowly and walked around the bed. He closed the bathroom door behind him, turning on the light. The strong light burned at his pained eyes, causing him to squint as he removed the ball of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. The angry cursive leapt off the page, imprinting in his memory.

_Stop ignoring me!_

Boiling anger coursed through his veins instantly, flaming through the taut muscles of his back. The thin paper tore easily, breaking into uneven squares as he ripped it apart. The pile of shredded paper rested neatly in his palm for a moment before he dumped it into the toilet. The flush echoed in the silence of the bathroom and he watched the paper get sucked into the whirlpool, vanishing a moment later. He backed away, the empty tank refilling as he began to change for bed.

Back in the bedroom, he slipped beneath the covers and turned on his side. Olivia's chest rose gently, her breathing still and even. Her arm curled over her stomach, even in her sleep protective of the child growing inside her. He inched closer to her, wrapping his arm around her. She snuggled against him, sighing in her sleep. He kissed her forehead, holding her close as he lay in the bed.

Waiting and listening.


	13. Jack Russell

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 13: "Jack Russell"

"Gregory."

Gregory looked up as the firm's Human Resources manager strolled into his office. With a sigh, he set aside the draft of his closing argument. "Helena Sporos."

"You know, you are, by far, my biggest headache."

He chuckled, leaning back in his leather seat. "And thus, my mission in life is complete."

Helena sat across from him, her fingers drumming the arm of the chair. "Terrific. What happened with you and Nancy?"

He shrugged. "She called in sick today."

"Right…and I'm Mary Poppins." She sighed, running her hand through her jet-black hair. "Your staff attrition is the highest in the firm and now Nancy says she's not coming back."

"At all?"

She nodded, slipping a pair of reading glasses on her face before unfolding a piece of paper. "This was on my desk this morning. 'I resign my position as executive assistant to Gregory Richards effective immediately'. She goes on to say," Helena continued, passing him the letter, "that she would've given the required two weeks, but that the 'current work environment' left her no choice. What the hell do you do to these poor girls? Do I need to be worried about a lawsuit?"

"I don't know what you mean," he mumbled, skimming over the letter.

"No one wants to work for you. I thought I hit gold with Nancy, but it only took you three years to run her off."

"Some people just aren't cut out for the position, Helena."

"I'm sure." She sighed, massaging the temples of her forehead. "Be that as it may, you still need an assistant, someone to oversee your clerks. I'll never get anyone in here on a permanent basis," she explained as she stood. "Not at the holidays. Cashlin Russell is in Sacramento for the next few days, so her assistant, Ruth, will be working for you. After that, we'll take it as it comes."

Gregory stood as Helena beckoned the woman into the office. Her dark hair framed her face, large glasses that slipped down the bridge of her nose. She looked up nervously, flinching when Helena put her hand on her shoulder. "Ruth, you'll be working in Gregory Richards's office for the next few days."

Gregory watched as Ruth nodded, her arms tightly crossed over chest. "Fine," he relented, drowned out by the shrill ring of the telephone. "Get her settled," he said to Helena as he reached for the phone.

"You owe me, Gregory," Helena promised as she led Ruth out of the office. She shook her head as she closed the door and looked over at Ruth. "I promise you, his bark is worse than his bite."

Ruth nodded, sitting at the desk and pulling the cover off the typewriter. "Nancy and I were friends, Ms. Sporos," she said softly, her voice barely a squeak. "I know all about what it's like to work for Gregory Richards."

* * *

"Mr. Richards," the voice on the other end of line said as the door to Gregory's office closed. 

"Stanton. What have you got for me?" Gregory asked.

There was the briefest moment of silence before Stanton began. "I tailed her to the airfield this morning. She boarded a private jet at 6:47am, destination Sacramento. She landed at 8:12am and the flight plan doesn't show a return until next Tuesday."

"Alright," Gregory said softly, watching the photo of Olivia in the corner of his desk. "And my home?"

"I sent a team of my best men over this morning. They secured the perimeter and will be on duty 24-7."

"Good. And you've made clear their instructions."

"Absolutely, sir. They come as close to the interior as the front and patio doors and are at no instance to obstruct the daily routine of your wife and child."

Gregory sighed. "I want this matter settled by the holidays."

"Cashlin Russell won't come within an inch of your home."

* * *

"What's with the goons, Livie?" Bette asked as she stepped into the foyer of One Ocean Avenue. 

"Oh, them," Olivia sighed flatly, eyeing the dark shadow through the front door's glass panel. "They're just a precaution."

"Against what?"

"Gregory's recent victory has left the opposing side disgruntled."

Bette's jaw dropped as she sat on the sofa and rocked the carrier holding Emily. "How disgruntled?"

"From what Gregory says, only slightly. They won't be here for very long," she explained, abruptly changing the subject as Caitlin skipped down the stairs. "Caity," she sighed, "you're not dressed."

Caitlin nodded furiously, spinning around in a small circle until the skirt of her flowing dress spun out around her ankles. "I am," she insisted, moaning slightly as she stumbled against the arm of the club chair. "Oh, I'm dizzy," she giggled, pressing her hands into her head.

"Fine." Olivia stood, grabbing the handles of her purse as she shepherded Caitlin out the front door. "We've got too much shopping to do."

"Honey, you make that sound like a bad thing," Bette said, following them to the driveway. "Someone has to put my Johnny's credit card to good use."

"I suppose so," Olivia laughed as they leaned into the backset, buckling their daughters in. "Though I thought Gregory was going to have a heart attack when he saw the bills from last Christmas."

"Tis the season to be jolly, merry and spendy." Bette laughed to herself, looking up when she didn't hear Olivia's laugh. "What's wrong?" she asked, following her gaze to the end of the driveway.

"Nothing. Not really." She watched a trio of men climb into a dark sedan that sat idling at the curb.

Bette closed the back door and walked around the car. "They're coming to the shops too?"

Olivia nodded. "Gregory promised they wouldn't get in the way. They're just going to be following us." She turned to Bette, shivering in the warm December sunshine. "What do you think 'slightly disgruntled' means?"

The red head shrugged. "It means Gregory doesn't want you to worry."

Olivia sighed in agreement. "You know Gregory. He always thinks he can fix everything."

Bette chuckled and followed Olivia into the car. "Now that's the understatement of the year," she said, sliding into the driver's seat. "But what I want to know," she said loudly, looking in the rearview mirror, "is where the angel in the backseat came from."

Olivia glanced over her shoulder as Caitlin giggled. "Her school is putting on a Christmas play. She's been living in her costume for the last three days."

"But my wings are broked," Caitlin explained with a pout as the car backed down the driveway. "I can't fly."

* * *

Jack Russell jumped out his pickup truck, causing the muscles of his back and neck to groan. He stomped his work boots while the distant sound of Cashlin screaming about dirt in the house echoed in his ears. With a tired sigh, he trudged up the drive, not failing to note the way his dusty truck clashed with his wife's shiny convertible. 

It spoke volumes about them.

The setting sun glinted off the windows of the beach house, reflecting back in his eyes. He squinted, shading his eyes from the sun as he walked up the pathway to the front door. Cashlin was out of town, jetting up to the state capital this morning for several days to take depositions for her latest case.

He had loved her since they were ten, growing up in the same small town in Idaho. He first proposed when they were fifteen. She had laughed then, grabbing his face to kiss him with such longing that he wasn't so disappointed when she said, "No, silly. I've got plans."

But she stayed with him for the rest of high school, every day for two years that allowed him to fall harder for her. He used to admire the way she talked about her future and her dreams. There was such determination that he had no doubt that she would leave the silver mining town she knew all her life and make herself into something.

She had tried to dissuade him when he followed her from Idaho to California. Claimed that he wouldn't like the place. And he hadn't. But she was there.

His problem was that he never wanted to be away from her. Her problem was that she couldn't wait to shed the skin of her former life. A former life that unfortunately included him.

Jack climbed the stairs to the front door, picking up the bundle of mail propped against the door of wood and stained glass. How she loved that door. It had taken months of searching before she settled on that one, one that was the "perfect balance of light and wood." She had glared at him when he told her a door was just a door.

The house of glass was quiet, filled with rusty golden light from the setting sun. He dropped the mail on the counter before pulling a bottle of beer out of the fridge. The cap popped off with a comforting snap and he took a long swig before unraveling the mail pile.

Bills, bills, more bills. He waded through the envelopes, setting the few pieces addressed to him aside. A thick manila envelope addressed to him caught his attention and he pulled it free, examining the postage label. His name was written in a familiar cursive and he pulled the flap open, sighing internally as he thought of Cashlin's latest list of rules for him to follow.

A pile of glossy photographs fell into his hands. He set his beer aside as he examined them. Grainy images stared back at him, dark figures cloaked in shadows. He rifled through them, his eyes hardening as they became clearer.

He didn't realize that his breathing had run shallow. Or that the pictures fell from his trembling hands, scattering across the floor. One was still in his hand, the heavy paper twisting beneath his iron grip.

It was Cashlin. Naked and on her back, her legs wrapped high around someone else's waist.

Jack bent down, grasping picture after picture until he found it. One that had a clear shot of the man. The one that could bring her to her knees, as another picture showed.

He quickly gathered the pictures together, shoving them back into the envelope they came in. Thunder roared in his ears as he slammed the front door shut, ignoring the way the glass inlay of the door shattered.

His old truck sputtered to life, smoke rising from underneath the hood as he reversed quickly down the drive. The wheel shook beneath his hands as he pressed down on the accelerator, speeding off down his street.

The world had just imploded, shattered remnants that resembled the glass littering his front door. _Their_ front door had glass too, from what he remembered. He had only been there once for a dinner party with the rest of Cashlin's associates.

One Ocean Avenue. One of the biggest homes on the beach. The home to Gregory Richards.

The man in the photos.


	14. Laughter and Soft Lies

_**NOTE: The title of this chapter was inspired by a line in the song "The End", written and performed by The Doors.**_

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 14: "Laughter and Soft Lies"

"Oh, Caitlin. What are we going to do with all this?"

The four year old sat on the living room floor, surrounded by mountains of gift boxes and shopping bags. "Hide them from Daddy?"

"Yes." Olivia nodded, gathering several of the errant boxes into a neat stack. "We'll hide them from Daddy in the back of your closet." She sighed, one that segued into a yawn as she sat on the sofa. "Let's just rest a minute."

She leaned back, watching as Caitlin stacked the boxes into a bridge she could crawl under. The sun had just gone down, hazy light that caught on her daughter's blond hair. Shadows began to grow, sprouting from the dark corners of the room. "Caity, press the button to make the tree light up."

"Ok!" she exclaimed, jumping up with a purpose. Boxes tumbled in her wake as she crawled beneath the fir tree, the lights springing to life as the sound of pounding on the front door reached them. "Daddy!" she shouted, crawling out and running to the door.

"Caitlin! No!" Olivia shouted, pushing herself up as the four-year-old pulled open the heavy door. She hurried over, putting herself between Caitlin and the front door.

Two of the guards held a man back, pushing him away from the door as he shouted, "No, damnit! Let me through! I need to talk to Gregory Richards! Let go!"

Olivia bent down, awkwardly scooping a sobbing Caitlin into her arms. The screaming man looked up, locking eyes with her. "I know you!" he shouted, straining against the guards. "I need to talk to you about your husband! There's things you need to know!" Her lips pressed together, recognition dawning as he shouted, "I'm Cashlin Russell's husband!"

"Wait!" she exclaimed as Caitlin pressed her face into her neck. "Wait! I know him!"

One of the guards turned back, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Richards. But we have our orders."

"But I know him," she insisted, shifting Caitlin tighter in her arms. "We'll speak here. Stay if you must."

The two guards made eye contact, silent communication until they lessened their grip on Jack Russell. "Watch yourself," the first guard growled warningly. "Watch yourself."

Jack shook them off, glaring angrily at the first guard then the second. He smoothed his hair back and took a deep breath, stepping towards Olivia. She eyed him carefully, smoothing the hair on Caitlin's head. "Just a moment," she said softly, turning back into the house where she deposited her daughter on the floor. "Caitlin."

The four year old looked up slowly, her cornflower blue eyes filled with tears. "Don't cry," Olivia whispered, crouching down and kissing her cheek. "It's all right, darling."

Caitlin's arms flew out, wrapping around her mother's neck and squeezing tight. "He shouted," she sobbed.

"Yes, he did." Olivia cupped her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "But I need to speak with him now."

Jack Russell flinched under Caitlin's suspicious gaze as Olivia continued, "You run up to your room and make a pretty picture for Daddy. Stay there until I come get you, alright?"

Caitlin nodded, slowly pulling her arms away from her mother's neck. "Ok, Mommy," she said softly.

Olivia stood slowly, watching her daughter walk away and begin to climb the stairs. "You've scared my child half to death," she snapped, turning back to Jack Russell.

He extended his arms, surrendering. "I'm sorry," he explained, taking a step closer to Olivia. "That was not my intention."

She eyed the two guards standing at attention at the end of the walk. "I'm sorry too. I don't remember your name."

"It's Jack. Jack Russell."

She nodded. "I'm Olivia. What exactly was your intention, Jack?" she asked. "Gregory's not home."

Jack's eyes darkened at Gregory's name and he sighed heavily, his breath shaky with unbridled anger. "Does he often work late?"

She cocked her head, folding her hands on the crest of her pregnant stomach. "Sometimes. Doesn't your wife?"

He chuckled, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. "Sometimes," he agreed, a pained expression clouding his eyes. "Sometimes." He looked down at her stomach for a long moment before slowly raising his eyes to her. "How long you folks been married?"

The question threw Olivia and it took her a moment to respond. "Five years this past November."

Jack nodded. "That's a nice long time. Cashlin and me…we've been married for a just a few months."

"Yes, I know. Gregory and I were guests at your wedding."

Something changed in Jack's eyes as a gust of wind rippled through the trees. "I suppose he would've been," he muttered, causing Olivia to frown.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly. "What do you want?"

"What I want…" he trailed off, turning away from her. "I never get what I want." He glanced back quickly, his eyes burning. "Except Cashlin. I got her."

Olivia shivered against his unrelenting gaze as he continued, "I've loved her since we were kids. I- I can't be without her. I need her."

"I'm not sure I-"

"I need her more than he does."

The two guards glanced over as Olivia froze. "What?" she gasped.

"Your husband. He doesn't need Cashlin." Jack swallowed, gesturing to Olivia as he explained, "He'll listen to you. Tell him to end it with her."

The breath rushed out of Olivia's lungs, creating an odd croaking noise in her throat as she pressed her hand into her chest. "You've- you're mistaken. Gregory-"

"Is having an affair with my wife!"

Olivia shook her head, slowly. "No," she replied shakily. "Gregory would never-"

"Gregory_ did_."

The simple statement rang in Olivia's ears, turning her heart as the muscles of her stomach constricted. "Gregory…would…never…" she repeated blandly, her words dying as Jack picked up a large envelope that until now lay discarded and forgotten on the ground.

He brushed the dirt away, holding it out to her. "Here."

"No," she snapped, grasping her hands together tightly. "I don't want it."

"Take it," he insisted, grabbing Olivia's hand and forcing her to take the envelope. "Look at it! Look at _them_!"

"Get out," Olivia hissed, throwing the folder down. It flew into the house, sliding across the tile of the foyer. She looked past him, speaking to the guards. "Get him out of here."

The guards shot forward, grabbing Jack and pulling him back. "Tell him to end it with her!" he cried urgently, meeting Olivia's eyes. "He's got you, your daughter, your new baby. He's got it all! All I've got is _her_!"

Olivia turned away, slamming the front door shut as Jack's shouts faded away. Her chest heaved, a million and two thoughts racing through her head. She swallowed hard, sucking air into her constricted lungs and willing the pervasive nausea away. The living room became a swirling vortex that sucked her in as she squeezed her eyes shut, choking back a sob.

_He'll listen to you…Tell him to end it…Look at them…He's got it all…_

It couldn't be true.

The thought vaguely ran across her mind as her eyes lowered to the envelope lying on the floor. She hadn't wanted it. That much was true. It may turn out to be the only truth in this wretched day, she thought as she reached down for the package.

It was heavy in her hand as she walked into the living room, shifting it from one hand to the other. She was Justice, weighing the scales of her own fate. A fate that unfortunately was already decided.

Olivia unfolded the envelope, lifting the flap as she peeked inside. Her hands had a mind of their own, pulling out the photographs and rifling through them slowly. She stared at each picture, the images forcibly committing themselves to her memory. She lifted a shaky hand to her mouth, knowing she could never look at the desk in his office again.

His hand here…her lips there…their bodies writhing in unison…

Bile rose in her throat as she paused on photo. Dark, inky images bled together except that it struck a chord in her. A chord of familiarity. The pile of photos slid off her lap as she flinched, seeing the way his hands reached for her.

He kissed his _whore_ the way his kissed _her_.

Her face crumpled as she leaned forward, her head spinning. When he kissed her like that, she knew he wanted her. Wanted her in the way his hands cupped her face, drawing her mouth closer to his. Wanted her in the way his lips found hers, eagerly seeking the lips he knew so well. Wanted her in the way they could lose themselves in oblivion when their bodies met.

Wanted her.

Wanted his whore.

She threw the picture away angrily, watching as it fluttered to the ground with the rest. Her heart pounded against her chest, thundering in her ears as she looked up. A photo of herself and Gregory looked back at her. Smiling faces gazed back at her, taunting her with their happiness. She shrieked an unintelligible curse as her hand made contact with the frame. It flew off the table, landing on the floor with an ugly crack.

Standing from the sofa, she blindly looked around the room, the floor littered with the vile images. With slow and stilted movements, she gathered them together and placed them in a neat stack on the coffee table. Order was the only thing she had left. It was the only thing she could comprehend as her head swam, the images in her mind crashing into her broken reality.

Tears stung at her eyes, her fingernails embedding into her palm as a guttural sob escaped her throat. "How could he?" she whispered, her eyes falling on the fully stocked bar. "How _could_ he?"

* * *

Wind whipped through the palm trees as Gregory stepped out of his car, carrying in the distant rumble of thunder. He looked up as thick clouds quickly moved across the night sky and fat drops of rain fell on his upturned face. 

He quickened his step as he walked up the driveway to the front door, nodding at the guards as he passed. The beam of light he was used to seeing was dark, a flash of lightening instead lighting up the alcove as he pushed open the door.

The living was dark, plunged into a steady darkness as he dropped his briefcase on the floor and fumbled with the light switch. The lights burst on with abundance, bright light that stung at his eyes. "Liv?" he asked, stepping into the living room as his vision adjusted. "Why are sitting in the dark?"

Olivia looked up slowly, her spine ramrod straight in the chair. "The dark," she said slowly, meeting his eyes, "hides so many things."

He loosened his tie, not yet realizing the storm had moved indoors. "Were you hiding Caitlin's Christmas presents? You and Bette were going shopping today, weren't you?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her. He frowned when she didn't look up, her eyes steady as she gazed across the room.

As he kissed her forehead, he noticed the crystal glass and empty bottle of wine next to her. "Did you just open that? I thought Dr. Robinson said only light social drinking for you."

She chuckled into the goblet as she took a large sip of the Chardonnay. "My doctor isn't married to you."

His frown grew in intensity, deep lines wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at her. "You heard the doctor go on and on about those new studies. Alcohol's not good for the baby."

Her eyebrows shot into arches as she looked up, her eyes clouding as she snapped, "The baby? Is that all you care about?"

"I don' know what the hell's going on!" he retorted as she downed the last mouthful of wine. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I am talking about you." She set the empty glass down hard, causing the flat bottom to snap away from the stem. Pushing herself up, she glared at him and hissed, "_You_."

The dam snapped. It shouldn't have been so easy to slip back into their old routine. The old ambivalence snuck up, creeping out from the dark shadows. He glared back at her, a weight pressing down on his shoulders as he snapped, "I'm not playing twenty questions with you, Olivia. I'm tired and I've had a long day."

She pouted, her face setting as she cooed, "Poor you."

Sarcasm dripped with every word and he turned away. "I'm going upstairs. Come find me when you're ready to talk."

Olivia's hand shot out, locking around his upper arm as she wrenched him back to her. "I'm not finished yet."

"Really?" he asked impulsively, barely recognizing the people they were becoming. "I didn't even realize you had started."

Her eyes hardened and she huffed, throwing his arm away. "Oh, go to hell." She spun away from him, reaching for the wine bottle's neck.

Gregory lunged forward, knocking the empty bottle out of her grasp. It fell to the floor, exploding in a dozen shards as he grabbed her shoulders forcefully. "You've had enough."

"I haven't even _begun_ to have enough," she argued, shaking herself away from him.

"Enough!" he bellowed. "Just tell me what's wrong!" He lowered his voice, squeezing her arm as he pled quietly, "Tell me what I've done and I'll fix it."

"You can't fix this."

"I can," he insisted.

Her face crumpled, blue eyes falling as she spat out, "You…and your _whore_."

Her words echoed in his ears as his world came to a crashing stop. "What are you talking about?" he asked quietly, guarded.

"This!" she erupted, shaking off his touch as she reached for the stack of photos. She flung the photos at him, one at a time while continuing to yell, "This! This! This! THIS!"

Gregory stared down, watching the pictures hit his chest and flutter to the ground. He glimpsed them briefly before they fell, not that he needed to see them to understand. He understood in her sobbing, in the tears that fell from her devastated eyes and in the fists she pounded into his chest when she ran out of photos.

"Why?" she sobbed. Her pummeling fists came to a stop, resting defeated against his chest. "Why?"

"Liv-"

"Don't 'Liv' me," she snapped, wiping the tears from her face. "And stop lying to me! Tell me the truth!" Her head pounded, a lethal combination of alcohol and anger that throbbed painfully. "Why?"

Her crestfallen face shunned him into silence and he turned away from her as she asked in a whisper, "Why wasn't I enough?"

She turned away too, pressing her hands into her forehead. Silence bridged the distance between them, a dark and painful abyss that neither could cross. A flash of lightening lit up the room, drowning out the lamps as a clap of thunder shook the house to its foundations.

Leaning heavily against the chair, she muttered against the dizziness, "You made a fool of me. A _fool_. All the times you said you were working late. Every time you took one of those business trips. How you paraded me on your arm at her wedding-"

And then nothing.

Gregory wrenched around at the sudden silence, partially expecting to find her sprawled unconscious on the floor. He sighed gratefully, seeing her still upright but with her back to him. She gasped and he took a step towards her, concerned.

Turning slowly, she locked eyes with him, the ultimate betrayal reflected in her eyes. "You bastard," she hissed, her eyes narrowing as her hand twitched. She shoved the chair aside, the legs harshly scratching against the floor. "You _lying_ bastard."

She came around the chair, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "We made love the night of her wedding," she cried, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. "We made a child. She was with someone else, so you settled for me?"

Gregory grabbed her wrists, holding them away from his shirt. "Don't do this," he said quietly.

"You wanted her and I was there! This isn't our baby," she spat out, twisting against him. "It's yours…and hers! She's who you wanted then, not me!"

"You're drunk." He tightened his grip on her as she shook her head violently.

"_You_ are a liar!" She struggled against his grip as she shrieked, "Get off! I don't want you touching me!"

So he let go, still holding the air as she stumbled away from him. She sat down heavily on the coffee table, burying her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. They were quiet tears now, the hysterics of earlier gone and replaced by the broken woman he saw before him.

And he had done this to her.

He lowered his hands slowly, reaching out for her. His hand hovered tentatively over her for a long moment before he pulled back. His hand trembled and he shoved it deep in his pocket as he looked out the glass patio door. A bolt of lightening lit up the patio, revealing the hulking outline of one of Stanton's men. "How did she get past the guards?"

Olivia looked up slowly, her eyes glassy as she stood. "What did you say to me?" she asked softly.

"The guards had their orders," he began to explain. "Cash-"

"Don't. Don't you _dare_ say that woman's name in my house." She sighed incredulously, angrily wiping the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry to disappoint you," she snapped, "but she wasn't here. Her husband was. He'd like you to end it with her."

She chuckled ruefully as she looked back up at him. "He'd like me to keep you away from her. Imagine that." Her body swayed and she braced her hand on the arm of the sofa. "I only wish I had that sort of power."

She began to walk out of the room, letting go of the sofa. She hadn't taken more than two steps on her own when her knees began to buckle. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her as he drew her to him. Against her protests, he scooped her into his arms, wondering if it was just last night that she laughed when he did this.

"Stop," she said, squirming as he carried her up the darkened stairs. "I don't want you."

"You may not want me, Olivia," he said quietly as they passed Caitlin's room, "but you do need me right now."

They entered the room quietly, a flash of lightening leading the way to the bed. Gregory leaned over, lowering her still body gently to the bed. She rolled onto her side, drawing her knees as close to her chest as her stomach would allow.

The shoulder of his shirt was damp with her tears he realized, grimacing as his fingers brushed the wet spot. He looked down at her, silent tears glistening on her face as he pulled a quilt over her. He reached out, catching a lone tear on his finger as he whispered, "Olivia?"

She slid away from his touch and turned her face away. "Go away," she replied, her voice hoarse from crying. "I hate you."

He looked away as she buried her face in the pillow. He backed away from the bed, passing back through the shadows to sit on the cushioned chaise. "You should hate me," he whispered under his breath as her quiet sobbing echoed in the silence of the room.


	15. The Morning After

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 15: "The Morning After"

The pain ripped through Olivia's skull like a knife, painfully dissecting her head. She moaned softly, flinging her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. Every muscle in her body ached, every bone throbbed. She licked her dry lips and grimaced at the foul taste in her mouth.

Her eyes opened, slowly testing the waters. Sunlight stung her eyes, burning the sensitive orbs as she slowly began to force herself up. Her head spun, her vision blurring as she pressed her hands into the mattress for support.

She sat upright, breathing slowly until the vertigo lessened. She rubbed her eyes and squinted past the blurriness. Gregory was stretched out on the chaise, asleep in yesterday's suit.

It hadn't been a nightmare.

Olivia rolled onto her side slowly, grimacing as a wave of nausea rocked over her. Her hair was a dead weight around her shoulders and she fumbled as she messily clipped it up. She looked over at her husband, the events of the previous night slamming into her with a purpose. It was twisting in the pit of her stomach, pressing painfully against her chest as she watched him sleep. His chest rose and fell, easy and carefree. Hers was tight, aching with every breath.

Years ago, in the early days of their relationship when everything was fresh and exciting, she had loved to watch him sleep. The powerful young lawyer that left seasoned veterans quaking in their shoes during the day looked endearingly vulnerable at night, slumped against her. His lips would part as he breathed slowly, deeply and comfortingly. She would inch lower in the bed, closer to him until his arm found its way around her and he hugged her close. Even asleep, he could still make her heart skip a beat.

Now all she saw when she looked at him was his arms around his whore, his lips pressed against hers. Their naked flesh pressed together.

She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes as she felt her eyes sting. Tears wouldn't help now, she told herself as she hid her face in the pillow.

Nothing would.

* * *

Sunlight burned behind his eyelids until he opened them and he winced. The sun shone cheerily through the window and his back groaned in protest as he sat up slowly. He blinked once, rubbing his dry eyes as his vision focused on the bed. 

The carved wood of the headboard gleamed in the light as he looked across the room. Olivia lay on the bed, buried beneath a tangle of covers. He stood slowly, sighing at the way she clutched his pillow to her.

"Mommy's sick?" a soft voice asked.

He looked down, Caitlin's hair rumpled as she tugged on his hand. She blinked sleepily at him as he crouched before her. "No. Mommy's very tired and needs to sleep. Can you be a good girl for me and be very quiet today?"

The child nodded solemnly before she turned and skipped out of the room. "Caity?" he asked in a loud whisper. "What are you doing?"

She returned a moment later, lugging a plastic case with her. "Shhh," she reminded him as she climbed onto the bed. "Mommy's sleeping."

Gregory watched as his daughter opened the case and took out a plastic stethoscope. "Don't wake her," he said quietly as Caitlin touched the toy to her mother's forehead.

"Mommy's got a fever," she diagnosed, turning back to her father. "She needs medicine." She reached into the case for a toy syringe and pressed it into her mother's arm. "Now she's better."

He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Yes, Dr. Caitlin." She giggled softly as he walked around the bed to Olivia's side. He brushed her hair back as his lips grazed her cheek. "I love you," he told her in a barely audible whisper.

* * *

Ruth pounded the keys of her typewriter in quick staccato, the clacking filling the silence of the quiet reception office. She looked up as Gregory walked in and she stood, the greeting dying on her lips as she saw his face. Dark eyes glared across the desk, materializing in his order: "Get Cashlin on the phone."

She nodded quickly, scrambling for the phone and her rolodex as Gregory turned and went into his office. He tossed the briefcase onto the leather sofa and stood in front of the wide window. The harbor lay before him and he watched a large sailboat cut through the water. Outside the window, the world was carefree and enjoying the days leading up to Christmas. It was all the antithesis to the rage coursing through his body.

A tentative knock on the door caused him to turn. "What line?" he asked, walking to the phone. He looked up at the silence and saw Ruth hovering in the doorway. "What?"

She flinched and took a deep breath. "Ms. Russell isn't there," she stammered as Gregory slammed the phone back to the receiver.

"Find her," he insisted quietly, cringing at the tortured squeak her throat made every time she spoke.

"I can't. She isn't supposed to be in court today. Her schedule is clear," she explained, her voice dropping off to a pained whisper. "She could be anywhere."

Gregory looked up sharply. "Yes," he said, more to himself as he turned back to the window. "_Anywhere_."

Ruth watched him curiously as she pushed her glasses back into place with her index finger. "I can keep trying her hotel and I'll put her through immediately if I reach her."

He didn't respond and she backed away slowly, easing back into the calmness of the reception area. Charged silence filled the office as he glared out the window and whispered, "Anywhere."

* * *

Olivia pulled the handmade quilt tighter around herself, shivering in the vastness of the room. The old black and white movie droned quietly in the background, flickering across the screen in bursts of light. She wrapped her arm around her daughter, who snuggled closer in response.

She sighed, closing her eyes as Caitlin's soft giggle twisted her insides. Her body was the enemy, rebelling with aching limbs and a pounding head. Nausea swam in the pit of her stomach, rising in her throat when she tried to rise from the bed.

Hideous images taunted her from the dark behind her eyelids. The photos fluttered before her like a silent movie, repeating its tale over and over again. It was the price of knowing that tortured her. There was only so much a person could know before ceding their sanity.

A gentle knock made her look up, squinting at the door. The housekeeper stepped into the room, carefully balancing two garment bags and several bags. Olivia sat up slowly, pressing her hands into her forehead. "What is it?"

The older woman laid the garment bags across the foot of the bed and explained, "Your costumes for the New Year's ball were just delivered."

She groaned, lowering her head as Elsa began to open the zipper. She had forgotten they were arriving today. "Leave it," she sighed, leaning back into the pillows and hiding her eyes. "I don't want to see them."

The housekeeper nodded, leaving the closed bags on the bed as she set the boxes on Olivia's vanity. "I'll just hang them," she said softly, hooking the sealed bags from the outside of the closet doors. She turned back to the bed in time to see Caitlin lean up and kiss her mother's cheek. "Chula, come here. I need your help baking the cookies."

Caitlin jumped down from the bed and bounced excitedly over to Elsa. "The ones for Nana and Poppop?"

Elsa nodded as Olivia asked from the bed, "Is the guest room ready for my parents?"

She nodded ushering Caitlin out of the room. "Yes. It's all ready for when they arrive tomorrow."

Olivia watched her leave, starting to close the door when she heard Caitlin's enthusiastic cry: "Daddy!"

Her heart leapt into her throat as her stomach flipped. She reached for the remote, clicking the television off as she rolled onto her side. He wasn't supposed to be home. It was too early.

The door opened slowly and her breath ran shallow when he stepped into the room. He had aged ten years since last night, watching her with hollow eyes. Her throat worked as he neared the bed with cautious steps. He placed a large bouquet of flowers on his half of the bed, next to her. Their fragrance reached her nose, turning her stomach as he looked down at her. Waiting.

Bile rose in her throat as the sickly floral scent overwhelmed her. Her hand shot out, knocking the bouquet off the bed as she turned away. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face into the pillow for further emphasis.

Gregory turned slowly, leaning forward as he rested his head in his hands. The broken flowers had scattered, the petals littering the floor. "Olivia," he began softly.

"Don't." Her voice was flat, as if even speaking took more energy than she was willing to spare. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it."

He sat up and sighed. "We need to talk about this," he said quietly.

"Gregory, so help me…not now." Her breath was shaky and the quilt was crushed in her palm.

"I want-." He turned back to her, gazing at her back. "Liv, I need to fix this."

Her face fell and unshed tears filled her eyes as she opened them. She pushed herself up, covering her mouth as the room spun. "Right now, I don't care what you need," she gasped, inhaling sharply.

He watched her stand, the quilt falling from around her body as she made her way to the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind her, reverberating in the tense silence.

* * *

Jack Russell shoved the last of his clothes into the duffle, muttering a curse under his breath as he fought with the zipper. He hoisted it onto his shoulder, kicking the closet door shut. Stopping in the doorway, he took one last look at the bedroom where he had spent his married life. Leaving it now raised barely any emotion in him.

The soles of his work boots squeaked on the polished wood floor and he took a measure of satisfaction as he clomped down the staircase. Cashlin's voice would be bouncing off the rafters if she saw him this way. It would certainly hit the roof when she saw the front door, he thought as he walked through it. He had thoughtfully taped a piece of cardboard over the open space where the glass inlay once was.

He threw the duffle into the back of his truck and climbed into the front seat. Through the dusty windshield, he stared up at the house. There was nothing left for him there anymore. He thought of his wife and the letter he left for her on the bed. It would have to do, he told himself with a sigh as he started the truck and slowly reversed out the drive.


	16. Eyes of Chelsea Blue

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 16: "Eyes of Chelsea Blue"

There's a hush in the air as I creep out of the stairwell. The sun is barely in the sky as the sole of my shoes whine against the marble floor. The offices of Erickson Vickers are a sleeping giant, devoid of any of the chaotic activity that sustains it during the day.

Shadows cover me as I walk down the hall, turning into his office. I breeze through reception, resting my hand on the gateway to his office. I push open the door slowly, an unsettling creak disturbing the silence. It was no matter, I thought as I inched into his office. There was no one to hear me.

I stop abruptly, stillness enveloping me as I wait. My eyes raise to the heavens as I inhale deeply, taking in all the fragments of him that I can. Faint traces of his cologne swirl around me, taunting me with their familiarity. They whisper his name, hissing in the receding darkness as my fingertips skim the surface of his desk. The solid oak was polished and buffed until it shone in all its glory.

Pity, I think as I drop my purse on the desk.

I step behind it, sinking into the butter soft leather of the chair. My head rests against the back as my hands caress the arms. I look out across the office, seeing what he sees. The statue of Justice rests stoically in the corner, facing me. My eyes travel down the bronze sculpture to the engraving on the base. _Fiat justitia, ruat caelum_.

Standing slowly, my eyes never leave the statue as I whisper the phrase aloud. My hand reaches into my handbag, gently pulling the photo out. There. I set it in the dead center of the desk, the shiny paper a stark contrast to the leather blotter.

I take a moment to admire my work, skimming over the arrangement when I see _her_ out the corner of my eye. The breath catches in my throat as I reach for the frame, my fingers trembling with rage. Her smile taunts me from behind the glass and I trace the outline of her face with my nail. I fling the frame to the desk, the glass cracking as it connects with the oak.

The crack runs crooked over the photo, distorting her face. I bring my fist down on the glass, further shattering the frame for each word. "Fiat justitia, ruat caelum," I growl as my flesh tears and blood streaks across the broken surface.

Glass falls to the floor in a tinkling waterfall as the other picture of her on the desk suffers the same fate as its sister. She knew. He_knew_ that she knew…and he was still with her. The rage boils, brimming over as I shove the bloody mess aside. My hand dives into my purse, triumphantly pulling the dagger free. The blade catches the pale light, gleaming wickedly as my hands wrap around the handle.

I look down at the desk, seeing her smirking face looking back at me. Her eyes blaze as she stares back at me, tauntingly rubbing the swell of her full stomach. A painful reminder of everything she had and everything I didn't as my arms fly up. Everything that should be_mine_.

An unintelligible shriek disturbs the tortured silence as I hurl the knife down. It slices through the paper and leather blotter before the surface of the desk groans. The blade stood embedded in the oak, the tip securing the picture.

I back away from the desk, gasping for breath. Blood drips from my hand, an uneven trail that stained the gray carpet. The stillness of earlier had dissipated, replaced with a tide more turbulent than the sea. A tear of blood followed the curve of the blade, red painted on the silver.

Justice's back was to me, weighing the scales of my fate. It was a shame it had already been decided as my arms wrap around the statue. I grimace at its heft as I spin towards the window. "Let justice be done," I gasp, heaving the statue back, "though the heavens fall."

The window shattered with a pop, raining down on me as the sculpture flew through it. I rush forward, a strong breeze whistling in through the break. The statue twisted through the early morning air, falling ten floors before it crashed into the unforgiving pavement.

I clench my fists, aggravating the still weeping cuts as I look out over the harbor and to the sea beyond. "Though the heavens fall."

* * *

The sun had risen, staining the ocean orange. A strong breeze whipped across the beach, a haze of windblown sand disturbing the peace. The palm frond blew horizontal as the wind tunnel howled across the stone patio of One Ocean Avenue. 

Olivia stood in the patio door, the sheer curtains billowing around her. Dark clouds waited on the horizon, inching closer with each passing moment. By noon, the sun would have disappeared and the shore would be drenched in rain. The major players were in place and another winter's day in California was upon them.

A fitting day to her mood, she thought, turning away from the door. She sighed, rubbing her arms for warmth as her father came down the stairs. "Morning, love. Cold?"

She shook her head, leaning against Thomas as he hugged her. Her father's strong embrace was a gift she'd known all her life. One that had never ceased to comfort her when she was at her worst. "Sleep well?"

"Very well." He smiled, one that caused his blue eyes to twinkle. "I expect your mum to spend the rest of the day in bed."

Olivia peaked up at her father. "Do you really blame her though?"

He chuckled softly, patting her shoulder. "Mum has never traveled well."

"No, I suppose not." She stepped back, wincing at the dull pain that was slowly making its way across her lower back.

Thomas's face dipped in concern as she turned away. "You alright, love?"

She nodded as she inhaled sharply and sank down to the sofa. "I haven't been sleeping well lately," she admitted, tossing a pillow onto the coffee table so she could prop her feet in comfort.

"Olivia, is everything alright?"

She looked up, blue eyes meeting their counterpart. Behind him, she saw Gregory on the stairs, frozen on the last step. "Fine, Dad." She turned back to her father and forced a smile. "I think this baby will be an athlete though. He's always kicking."

Thomas grinned, nodding to Gregory as he passed. "A future footballer," he said proudly. "Brilliant."

"You could wind up with another granddaughter," she reminded him, watching as Gregory walked around the sofa to her side.

"Like I said," Thomas chuckled, "a future footballer." He smiled at the expectant parents as he rubbed his hands excitedly. "One with eyes of Chelsea blue."

"We'll see what we can do," Gregory said.

"You do that. Now, if you'll both excuse me," Thomas said, "I believe there is a pot of coffee with my name on it."

A curtain of silence dropped over the living room after Thomas left, pregnant in the tense overflow. A violent wave was ripping through the living room, leaving the question of who would survive in the wake. Life had suddenly become a Kandinsky, the deep colors only overtaken by the chaos.

With a cautiousness that she found uncharacteristic, he sat down. The spectrum of emotions played across his face, gliding seamlessly from one to the next with each breath. Her hand trembled, a slight vibration that would've gone unnoticed by anyone but him. "You were tossing and turning all night," he said softly, the richness of his brown eyes giving her pause.

How easy it could still be to lose herself in him. To watch him watching her and get swept away in the undisturbed attention he lavished on her. The world could fall into the Pacific when he watched her, the glint in his eye the only communication they needed.

Only now, it tore at her heart. His eyes rang the muscle, twisting it painfully until it could twist no more. Until her breath was a shallow struggle and her eyes burned, watching him approach her with a nearly distant carefulness.

She shrugged, the gentle rise of her shoulders counterbalancing the lowering of her eyes. "I'm sorry if I kept you up," she replied with a quietness that could kill him a thousand times over.

He sighed. "That's not-" He shook his head, reaching to lift her feet as he slid into the vacant spot. Her slippers fell silently to the floor and her bare feet rested in his lap. She flinched when he took them in his hands, a familiar warmth sweeping over her like a blanket. "Was it your feet or back?"

"Both," she admitted in a whisper after a long beat of silence.

Strong fingers immediately went to the swollen flesh of her feet. One hand slid around her ankle, holding her still as he carefully probed the disappearing arch. He looked up in time to see Olivia lean back, stretching out on the sofa. A sigh graced her lips, born on the strains of contentment. "How did you know?" she mumbled, her tongue thick with exhaustion.

Her eyes were closed, a shade that allowed a window of honesty to open. "It was the same way with Caitlin," he reminded her. "Your feet were so swollen you could barely walk, but you couldn't sit and put pressure on your back."

Her hand fluttered up, waving away her own response. Instead, she stretched more, giving him more of her leg. He accepted them gratefully, his hands caressing the ripeness of her calf. Her foot curled, digging into his thigh as he reached a tender spot just above her ankle.

The silence lay undisturbed between them as he worked, soothing the tense and swollen limbs with an experienced touch. It had been a lesson of give and take when she was pregnant with Caitlin, learning the ways that the changes to her body changed her responses to him. A touch that used to make her purr would now make her flinch in pain. In short, it was nothing less than art perfected by one of the greatest masters.

Gregory looked up at her, memorizing the way her tongue ran across her lower lip. It was the unconscious that tantalized him, intrigued him to the point of ecstasy. His hands inched up, resting on the soft flesh. "Liv?"

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking away the exhaustion. His eyes were lowered, unable to meet hers. She pursed her lips, watching him quietly. There was a war waging in his eyes, an internal battle that was consuming him. Her face fell, her blue eyes widening as he finally met them. The pain reflected in them was as raw as ice and just as deadly. "It's been days. When are you going to talk to me again? I mean, really _talk_ to me."

Her face melted, her lips dipping as her insides tightened and the unspoken grew between them. "When- when I can do it without wanting to cry," she whispered against the painful rock lodged in her throat. "When I can close my eyes and not see you...and her." Her barely there voice trailed away, dissolving as the rock imploded and an anguished sob filled the sudden silence.

He sat back as she looked away quickly, breathing heavily. Her feet slipped from his lap, killing the last connection he had with her. She turned, hiding her face from his tortured eyes.

From the doorway, Elsa cleared her throat. "What?" Gregory snapped, irritated by the interruption.

"Telephone," she said simply. "It's the office."

"Take a message," he said, turning back to Olivia.

She cleared her throat again. "They said it was urgent."

Olivia looked over, wiping her eyes. "Gregory," she sighed, "take the call."

He watched her for a long moment before he stood reluctantly. Across the living room was an eternity to the phone. "Yes?"

She sniffled and reached for a tissue as Elsa left the room quietly. She drew a breath, her lungs expanding against the pressure in her chest. His back was to her as he whispered into the phone, his conversation barely stirring the silence.

When he hung up the phone, she knew that something had changed. She could tell it in the force with which the handset returned to the base. In the way he kept his back to her, as if he needed a moment to collect his emotions. She sat straighter when he finally turned around, his face a careful mask of calm. His Switzerland face, she called it. The one he used when something hadn't gone as he planned and he was grasping for the last semblance of control before he exploded.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head, dismissing her question. "It's nothing for you to worry about," he explained. His voice was guarded, _too_ guarded. "Just a minor issue at the office. I need to go down and meet with Vickers."

"What about my doctor's appointment?" Her eyes fell, her hands twisting anxiously in her lap. "We're having the ultrasound done."

Gregory crouched before her, tentatively covering her hands with his. "I'll be there." His grasp tightened, an unspoken reassurance. "If you still want me, that is."

She looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. The warmth from his hands seeped through hers, a gentle wave that washed over her. The tightness in her chest lifted, lulled away as she watched his hopeful eyes. "Of course, I want you there," she sighed. Relief clouded his eyes as a small smile lit up his face.

It was a simple gesture, one of such genuine pleasure that it shouldn't have hurt to see it. But to Olivia, it was a testament of all that had changed. There was a ripple between them, a dynamic shift that had toppled everything they knew. Nothing would ever be as it was again.

* * *

Like any organization, Emerson Vickers had a hierarchy to the layout of it's building. The closer you were to heaven, the more clout you wielded. From the founding partners down through the various other partners, a person's importance was judged by the location of their office.

Except for those that occupied the offices located on the lone subterranean floor. For them, there was no measure of the authority within their grasp.

Gregory tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator groaned to a stop and the doors parted. He stepped out into the dimly lit hall, the coolness enveloping him as he saw Vickers and a tall man at the end of the hall. The dry air parted as he made his way to them. His footsteps echoed in the vast hall and they turned, watching his approach. "How bad is it?" he asked.

Vickers made eye contact with a tall man, nodding slightly. "Let's show him the footage."

"In here," the tall man said as he gestured the two men inside an office. Several monitors lined the wall, the screen of one filled with a smattering of static. He turned back to the group as he leaned against the wall. "As you know, we've been employing the use of closed-circuit security cameras in the building for some time. It's only recently that we've begun backing up to videotape." He held up a large cassette for all to see. "After the Butler incident, we learned the importance of tape evidence."

"Yes, yes," Vickers interrupted. "Show him."

The tall man nodded and turned back to the monitors. "These monitors watch the tenth floor: the junior partners. The cameras are located in all common spaces: hallways, stairwells, conference rooms and reception areas. Attorney-client privilege prevents them from being in private offices, but we've placed them so that room can be monitored if the door is left open." He turned to Gregory, eyeing him closely. "Which is how we were able to see this."

The fuzzy static disappeared, replaced with a grainy black and white shot of his reception area. The image looked frozen, paused in place until a flicker of movement caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the monitor as figure all in black moved across the screen. "It's clearly a woman," he heard the tall man say as the figure pushed open the door to his office. She stood in the doorway for a long moment before disappearing out of the cameras range.

"She was in and out in less than five minutes," the tall man continued. "She tossed everything that was on the desk and broke the window with a statue. When she left, she kept her head down."

"We'll be moving you into new offices this afternoon, Richards," Vickers said as Gregory turned around.

"What else?" He glanced over the faces surrounding him. "What else was there?"

The tall man reached for a folder and passed it over. "We're keeping this in house," Vickers said.

Gregory opened the folder, looking down at what was now an all too familiar image. Cashlin's mouth lay dangerously close to his mouth, frozen in time as his hands reached for her. The silence could've heard a pin drop as he cleared his throat and closed the folder.

"The back," the tall man suggested quietly.

He opened it again, turning the thick paper over. The familiar hand writing streaked across the back in a single word: LIAR. A gash in the paper caught his attention and he fingered it curiously.

"The photo was left on the desk with this," the tall man said, holding up a clear plastic bag. The knife rested at the bottom, flakes of dried blood clinging to the blade. An involuntary shiver swept through Gregory as Vickers placed his hand on his shoulder.

"We're going to take care of this," he said quietly. "Quickly and discreetly."

"I've got a connection with the Feds in L.A.," the tall man explained, taking the folder back from Gregory. "We can dust for prints, maybe type the blood. Anything to get some physical evidence against Ms. Russell. I've got to go in the back door, but with the distraction of the holidays, we should have some answers in a week or so."

Vickers nodded and led Gregory out of the office as the tall man turned off the monitors. "Ms. Russell is still in Sacramento," he said. He faced him, easygoing as they spoke privately. "I'll never be one to tell a man he can't enjoy his personal time…" His tone dropped sharply as he stepped closer. "But clean your house, Richards and keep your personal affairs out of my office." He backed away, his demeanor lightening as the tall man came into the hallway. "My regards to your lovely wife and merry Christmas."

Gregory watched Vickers disappear down the hall. The silence was deafening, only overtaken by the sound of his thundering heart in his ears. Things were spiraling out of control and the cause had a name: Cashlin.

* * *

The paper beneath Olivia crinkled as she squirmed on the exam table. Afternoon sun broke through the storm clouds, pale shafts of light that glowed on the cheerful yellow walls. Gregory stood in the corner, watching as the nurse took Olivia's blood pressure. She read the meter and made a note on the chart, the cuff hissing as she unwrapped it. "Dr. Robinson will be in shortly."

Olivia sighed, looking down at her clasped hands. Her engagement ring caught the fading light, the diamond glittering in the quiet. She looked up slowly, squaring her shoulders as she watched her husband. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets as he gazed steadily out the window. There was a faraway look in his brown eyes, a cloud of discontent the surrounded him. She cleared her throat and he looked over, coming back to her. "Do you know what I was thinking about?" he asked, sitting on the stool and rolling over to her.

She shook her head and he rested his hand on the exam table next to hers. "Names."

"Names?"

He looked up at her and continued, "We haven't picked a name for our baby. He or she can't be Baby Richards forever." She watched him carefully and he charged on, grateful for the small smile she gave him.

"I like Grace," she admitted softly.

"Grace Richards." He watched as she leaned back, the firmness of her belly straining against the paper gown. "What if it's a boy?" he asked.

Her eyes fell, unable to hold his gaze. "I don't know."

A firm knock on the door interrupted Gregory's response and they both looked up as Dr. Robinson came in. "Good afternoon," he said, smiling cordially as Gregory stood and shook his hand. "Nice to see you both again. Hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"No," Gregory assured him. "Just baby names."

The doctor nodded, smiling down at Olivia as he flipped open her chart. "Any keepers?"

"Grace," she said. "We like Grace."

"Grace, derived from the Latin word for good will." He chuckled at their amused expressions and went back to Olivia's medical records. "After twenty five years of delivering babies, you learn a thing or two about the science of naming them." He closed the folder with a measure of finality and looked back at them expectantly. "And for a boy?" he asked. "I'd like to be two-for-two today."

"We hadn't decided yet," Gregory replied as Olivia shifted uncomfortably.

"Go ahead and lie back, Mrs. Richards," Dr. Robinson instructed as the nurse stepped back into the room and dimmed the lights. As the ultrasound machine came to life, he continued, "Maybe Gregory? After dad?"

"No," they replied collectively, causing the doctor and nurse to glance up.

"I agree," Dr. Robinson said delicately after a long moment. "Puts too much pressure on young boys. My wife and I named our son Tyus. It's about as far from Charles as you can get." He smiled down at Olivia. "This is going to be cold," he said, squirting a generous dollop of clear gel on the down slope of her stomach.

She nodded, inhaling sharply. "We haven't found a meaning for Tyus yet," the doctor continued, turning to the black and white monitor. "But I think 'serious' would be a reasonable candidate." He pressed the probe to her stomach, moving it slowly across her skin as he squinted at the screen. "Let's see what we have here."

Gregory stared at the masses glowing from the monitor, undecipherable blobs of gray. "There we are," Dr. Robinson said, pointing at the aforementioned blob. "Baby Richards is ready for his close-up, Mr. DeMille."

"His?" Olivia asked, watching the flickering screen.

"Or hers." He looked at Gregory and Olivia, waiting patiently. "Did you change your mind about knowing the sex?"

"I don't think so," Gregory said quietly as Olivia shook her head.

The doctor nodded and continued to manipulate the probe. "Everything looks alright," he said. "Two legs, two arms. Baby Richards is developing nicely in his or her second trimester." Without taking his eyes off the monitor, he asked, "How have you been feeling, Mrs. Richards?"

She glanced up, feeling Gregory's hand covering hers. "Fine. A little tired."

"Let's print this," he said to the nurse as he passed her the probe. "Your blood pressure is a little high for my liking." He watched Olivia carefully as her blue eyes flickered to her husband. "Your baby goes through everything you do," he explained. "You're upset, he or she is too."

She shrugged, sitting up slowly after the nurse wiped the gel away. "I've been busy. It's the holidays. Our four year old can barely sit still. I have a mountain of presents to wrap and my parents just arrived from London."

"Well, the holidays will do that to you." He patted her shoulder. "Just remember to rest."

"She will," Gregory promised, meeting Olivia's eyes. She turned her head, finding the silent expanse of the wall easier to face than the sorrow filled eyes of her husband.


	17. December 24th

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 17: "December 24th"

The parking garage was dim, perfumed with faint traces of motor oil. It was in the deserted upper level that Gregory waited, the Jaguar idling quietly. The wheel vibrated beneath his hands and he sighed, checking his watch. Waiting for anyone had never been a virtue of his.

He leaned back in the driver's seat, the butter leather soft beneath him. Yesterday…had not gone as planned. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Nothing had been as of late.

He looked up slowly, opening his eyes. Olivia's face loomed in the garage's dim vacancy. He winced as her eyes turned to him, disgust burning at the blue. And underlying that, the unspeakable pain that caused her to look away whenever she met his gaze for more than a moment.

The shriek of another car's wheels cut through the silence, vanquishing her face to the depths of his mind. The tinted window rolled down as the large sedan pulled up alongside his car. Stanton's fedora was low on his head, the brim hiding his eyes. He waited, his fingers stroking his chin.

"My pest problem," Gregory began, his voice low, "has increased."

He nodded, his charcoal black eyes steady. "Extermination?"

Gregory shook his head. "Just end it. End it _now_." His voice rose, echoing off the gray cement. His arm bridged the gap between their cars and a thick envelope change hands. "Send a message."

Stanton nodded, feeling the envelope. "A warning then," he clarified, tucking the envelope inside his jacket.

"Whatever it takes. _Whatever_ it takes."

* * *

Barbara Blake stood quietly in the door, watching her daughter fold the shiny wrapping paper around the gift box. Frustration was etched across her face, coming to fruition in the curse she muttered. "Do you need help?" she asked softly, placing her hand lightly on her shoulder. 

Olivia pushed the partially wrapped gift away, blowing a lock of hair angrily off her head. "I hate wrapping gifts," she muttered, collapsing against the back of the sofa. "Help would be_wonderful_."

She patted her daughter's shoulder and sat next to her. "You never liked wrapping," she continued, tucking the paper into a neat flap.

"I always preferred _un_wrapping," Olivia said as she filled out the gift tag.

Barbara chuckled and looked up, her blue eyes twinkling. "Who could forget you tearing down the stairs Christmas morning?" She held the wrapped gift up for Olivia to take and looked down. "It wasn't even light out and there you were, shaking every gift you could get your hands on."

"I'm sure Caitlin will be the same way tomorrow morning."

"What's this?"

Olivia glanced over. The crate rested at her mother's feet, the wood slats glowing in the soft sunlight that streamed through the study windows. "My gift for Gregory," she replied softly.

"A wood box?"

She smiled bashfully, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she sat back. "It's a case of 1959 Chateau Brion. I saw it at auction a few months ago."

"My," Barbara sighed incredulously. "I certainly hope that Gregory was a good boy this year."

Olivia looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

The older woman cocked her head. "Nothing, love. I was just teasing." She watched as her daughter looked away, breaking the gaze of blue. Pushing the rolls of wrapping paper aside, she moved closer to her daughter and touched her arm. "What's the matter? You've hardly been yourself since your dad and I arrived."

The carpet beneath their feet held her rapt attention. "Nothing," she whispered, following the Turkish threads with her eyes.

Barbara frowned at the reply. Her daughter's voice was small, hidden behind the façade of normalcy. She cupped her daughter's chin and turned her face up. "This isn't nothing," she insisted. Her chin trembled within her touch and she continued, "I can tell something's wrong."

Her face crumpled, dissolving into a sadness to rival all. "Oh, Mum," she gasped, leaning into her mother's embrace. She was five years old again, running into her mother's outstretched arms after a nightmare. Her mother's arms enfolded her and she closed her eyes, turning her face into her neck. Tears stung at her eyes, materializing in Barbara's soft assurances. "It's- wrong," she murmured.

"What? What's wrong?"

Olivia raised her head slowly, meeting her mother's eyes. "Everything." She hid her face in her hands as her mother rubbed her back.

"How everything?" Barbara sighed as she lowered Olivia's trembling hands. "You've got everything in the world you could possibly want: a beautiful child, a new baby on the way, a husband who loves you." She brushed her daughter's hair away from her face as her breath came out in a rasp. "How is that wrong?"

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "It's not enough," she whispered, unable to meet her mother's questioning eyes. "It never was."

"Olivia," she said sharply, seriousness enveloping her tone. She watched her daughter curl into herself, shrinking away from her touch.

"Gregory and I," she began softly, "aren't- are having…" She leaned forward, resting her head in her hands. Her back shuddered, a wave that rocked her body as she said, "He had an affair." Her mother's gasp filled the silence and she closed her eyes against the sound. "I found out a few days ago," she continued, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face.

Barbara reached out, resting her hand in the middle of her daughter's back. She leaned closer, wrapping her arms around her as their heads touched. Brushing the hair away from her daughter's face, she asked in a whisper, "What did he say about it?"

"What is there to say?" she replied sullenly.

"Yes, but he had to have said _something_."

She shrugged, as if all reason had failed her. To some degree, it had. Her touchstone was gone, her world shattered. Violent seas engulfed her as she swam desperately to keep her head above water. "He's tried to explain."

"But?"

Olivia pushed herself up, padding barefoot across the study floor. Shivering, she rubbed her arms as she stepped into the pool of sunlight at the window. "I haven't wanted to speak with him."

"Why not?" her mother exclaimed, rising from the sofa.

She spun around, fury blazing in her eyes. "Because I don't know whether I want to cry or kill him!" Her eyes narrowed as the walls of the study closed in on her. "I go from sobbing uncontrollably to wanting to wring his neck! Every time I close my eyes, I see those pictures of him and that _slut_ and I just-"

The crystal vase caught her eye, the glass refracting the sunlight into a rainbow of color. It was heavy in her hands as she snatched it up and threw it the floor. It shattered with a loud pop, crumbling into dozens of pieces. "I want to kill him," she hissed, taking her anger on the plump pillow that decorated the armchair. "For being so stupid! For going to her!" The pillow flattened beneath her rage, going limp as she beat it against the armchair. Hot tears ran down her face, staining her cheeks as she cried, "I was right there! I was _always_ there and still he went to her! And for what?"

She lost her grip on the abused pillow and flew it across the room, knocking a framed photo off the bookcase shelf. The frame clattered to the floor and landed amongst the battered pillow and glass fragments. "Why?" she murmured, her face softening as the anger coursing through her veins melted away. She slid down the wall, collapsing heavily on the floor. Her throat worked furiously and her eyes shone as she inhaled sharply. "Then I see him," Olivia continued in a wounded whisper, "watching me, the pain in his eyes and knowing that there's nothing I could say to him that he hasn't already beaten into himself."

She choked back a sob as she wiped a tear from her eye and looked over at her mother, who sat on the floor next to her. "Because deep down, he is still the young man whose father told him he would always be a worthless failure. And I want so badly to hug him, to make him stop hating himself. I want to cry, kill him _and_ heal him," she confessed, letting her mother wipe the tears from her cheeks. "But most of all, I just want things to be the way they used to be."

Barbara hugged her sobbing daughter closer, unable to simply wipe away her child's tears and send her back into the world. There were no easy words that could heal the hurt that had broken her daughter's heart. "You've got to talk to him, love," she whispered in her daughter's ear. "Until you do, things will _never_ be the way they used to be."

* * *

The chauffeured car ground to a stop, the engine barely a hum in the dusk. The driver rushed out, racing around to open the back door. A red leather pump extended first, followed by a shapely leg. Cashlin ripped off her sunglasses, glancing at the brightly lit house across the street before back to her own. It was a dark silhouette against the setting sun. She sighed, pursing her lips as she hiked her purse on her shoulder. He hadn't even turned on the lights as she asked. "Bring them into the house," she told the driver as he held out her briefcase. 

Her heels clicked a noisy staccato as she walked across the driveway and up to the house. Her irritation grew by the second, twisting deep in the recess of her belly. It had been a simple request. Decorate the house. Some lights around the window and a large tree by the fireplace. "He could've done it in his sleep," she muttered as her eyes fell on the large pile of uncollected mail.

She crouched low, grabbing the bundle. Just what had he done while she was in Sacramento? As she stood, the brown cardboard covering the door caught her eye. Her eyes narrowed as she reached out, tracing the paper that was an inferior substitute for the glass. "Jack," she growled, reaching into her purse for the key.

Inside, the house was quiet. The white living room glowed in the sunset, a mosaic of gold coating the surfaces. She glanced around, her purse falling to the plush cushion of the sofa. The steps of the chauffeur stirred the silence as he placed her luggage gently on the buffed floor. She turned slowly, pressing a folded bill into his hand. He nodded graciously, bidding her a soft "Merry Christmas" before he ducked out of the room.

"Jack?" she called when she heard the front door close behind the chauffeur. A lonely echo was her only answer and even that faded into the silence after a moment. He couldn't be home, she thought as she walked through the foyer and up the wide staircase. That noisy pile of junk that he called a truck wasn't in the driveway, an eyesore on the elegant landscape.

She pushed open the door to the bedroom, blinking as she stepped into the room. The large floor-to-ceiling windows were unobstructed and flooded the room with light. All was still and in it's place, she noted as she glanced around. Except the closet. A boot print stained the wood, a dirty tattoo on the pristine wood. She flung open the doors, her glare giving way to a blank stare as she assessed the contents. A handful of empty hangers hung from the rod, save for the expensive dark suits that she bought for him. All of his clothes were gone, leaving no trace of Jack Russsell in the closet.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw the envelope resting against the pillow. A gentle hum filled her ears, growing louder as she neared the bed and reached for the envelope. With calculated ease, she wedged her finger beneath the flap and ripped it open. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of lined paper, recognizing the chicken scratch that leapt off the page.

"Cash," it began and she rolled her eyes at the pet name. He knew that she despised being called that. She looked back at the paper and continued reading. "Cash, I never thought it would come to this. I know now that I shouldn't guess when it comes to you. If you're reading this, then it means that I am gone."

The paper twisted as she clenched her fists. "I've taken nothing. Just the clothes on my back and my truck. I'm sure that you'll see to the divorce. I promise to be fair, which is more than I can say you were."

Her brow furrowed, her eyes darkening as she continued reading. "I'd like to wish you a merry Christmas and all the best, but I just don't think I have it in me. After everything, I'm sure you'll understand. Jack."

She lowered her arm as a long exhalation fell from her lips. She looked out the window, the silence suffocating her with its power. The sun was sinking behind the horizon, staining the ocean with its lingering rays. Her hands moved slowly, crumpling the paper into a tight neat ball before she dropped it. He left her? She shook her head, chewing the inside of her cheek as her mind worked. After everything, _she_ was supposed to leave him. And she would've, just as soon as she found a way around the community property statute. But now…

She turned away from the window as she reached into the top drawer of her dresser. Her guilty pleasure was tucked into the back, behind the jungle of silk panties. She opened the slim gold case, eyeing the neat row cigarettes tucked inside. The match sparked and there was a momentary whiff of sulfur before she lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"A fine way to spend Christmas Eve," she murmured to herself, a stream of smoke escaping her lips. "Merry Christmas _indeed_."


	18. Mea Culpa

(See first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 18: "Mea Culpa"

A cool breeze whistled through the open doorway, rolling in from the balcony. Pale light softened the room, blooming through the tall windows. In the distance, the roar of the ocean drowned out the overwhelming silence of the nearly empty beach house.

In the king size bed, Cashlin rolled over, squeezing the feather pillow beneath her head. Outside, a seagull crowed as it swooped by the open door. Her eyes opened slowly, her blue-gray irises taking in the darkness. She pushed herself up, blinking sleepily as she slipped out from under the covers. The Spanish tile was cool beneath her feet and she gasped, hanging her head as her mind came awake.

The fact that it was Christmas morning barely registered as she looked up, yawning wide. She rolled her shoulders as she ran her hand through her short hair. A creak echoed in the silence and she glanced up instinctively. It disgusted her to realize that she expected to find Jack standing in the door.

Disgust was short-lived as a figure in black lunged at her. A scream died in her throat as she fell back to the bed, a menacing weight on top of her. A roll of silver duct tape appeared, whining painfully as a piece was wrenched away and pressed over her mouth.

"Open your eyes," a voice growled.

She forced open the eyes she didn't even know were closed, squirming against the beady eyes that glared down at her. The black ski mask was molded to his face, his eyes and mouth revealed by three small holes. Her eyes widened and her cry was muffled as he wrenched her arms over her head and pressed down. "You're not so tough, are you now?" he asked, his gritty voice mocking as he leaned on her with more of his weight.

Cashlin lay frozen beneath him, shrinking against the mattress. He twisted her wrists together, wrapping a generous length of duct tape around them. He spoke again, his words long in his California drawl. "You know what happens to people who don't mind their business?" he asked, his one gloved hand wrapping around her neck. "Do you?" He squeezed gently and her body shuddered. "They lose their pretty little _heads_."

She strained against him, screaming against the duct tape. "Stay away from people and places you have no business being near," he said softly, digging his thumb into her windpipe. Her heart thundered in her chest, rushing in her ears as he lowered his face to hers. "Don't make me come back to collect."

He rolled off her, jumping away from the bed and dashing out of the room. Cashlin flipped over, her short nightgown sliding on the sheets as she fell to the floor. She fumbled with the tape over her mouth, finally freeing the corner before she yanked hard. The sticky tape hissed as it pulled away, reddening her mouth as she screamed in release.

She crawled across the floor, knocking the phone down with her bound hands. She pressed zero, breathing heavily as the front door slammed shut on the first floor. The bored voice of the operator crackled out of the headset and she pressed her head closer. "Help!" she cried, her entire body trembling. "Someone just broke into my house!"

* * *

Olivia opened her eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the window. She rubbed her eyes, looking over to Gregory's side of the bed. Empty. She frowned, clipping her hair up and throwing back the covers before she stood. She slipped into her robe, belting the paper-thin red silk at the summit of her stomach. 

The hall was quiet and the runner swallowed her steps as she walked down it. She paused at the door to Caitlin's room, pressing her ear to the closed door. The distant sound of her daughter's snore reached her and she smiled, tiptoeing away to the stairs.

Downstairs, the scent of fir greeted her and she stood still, letting the warm fragrance overwhelm her. It was the scent of Christmas and she shivered, her eyes moving over the mountain of presents spilling out from beneath the tree. The lights sparkled, tucked among the dark green boughs like glittering diamonds. Bright red bows and shiny ornaments decorated the tree, sweeping up to the top where the simple gold star sat. It was perfect.

The hems of her robe and nightgown stirred, floating on the air as she turned slowly. The glass doors to the patio hung open, the sheer curtains billowing on the morning breeze. Curious, she moved closer to the doorway, tucking her hands into the pockets of her robe.

The sun warmed the patio, strong even in the early morning hours. Gregory's back was to her as he sat in the chair, looking out to the beach and sea beyond. A cloud of misty smoke engulfed him and she breathed deep, the spicy cigar reaching her nose. She backed into the house quickly, wrinkling her nose at the smoky stench.

Leaning against the wall, she pressed her hand into her chest, breathing heavily. The insatiable urge of flight overwhelmed and she closed her eyes. Her mother's words echoed in the silence. _You've got to talk to him, love. Until you do, things will never be the way they used to be_.

She forced her eyes open, staring blankly into the quiet of the living room. Her shoulders fell as she rested her hand on her stomach. A soft flutter beneath her hand was a quiet reminder of the undeniable bond between them. A bond that was theirs and theirs alone. The child sleeping upstairs and the one slumbering in her womb had bound her to him for life. And him to her.

She reached for her open purse on the breakfront table and felt inside until her hand wrapped around the leather case. The hinges creaked as she opened it, pulling out the dark sunglasses and slipping them on her face. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath as she walked through the living room and out onto the patio.

The stone was warm beneath her bare feet and the winter breeze ruffled her robe. The deep red silk glowed in the sun as she walked across the patio. She reached out tentatively, placing her hand lightly on her shoulder. He stiffened beneath her touch and looked up, relaxing at the sight of her. "Don't get up," she said as he began to push himself up. She came around the lounge, sitting lightly on the edge of the chair as he moved his legs aside. "Happy Christmas," she said softly.

He chuckled, leaning against the wood back of the chair as he extinguished the cigar. "We say 'Merry Christmas' on this side of the pond," he reminded her with a wink.

The grin flashed across her face before she could stop it. "Yes, well," she began, bracing her arms as she leaned back, "I think you'll be outnumbered in this argument, counselor." She looked up at the sky, grateful for the sunglasses as the sun rose high from the east. "How long have you been up?"

He shrugged, folding his hands over his chest. "I dozed here and there," he admitted. "In between putting together all the pieces that made up Caity's gifts."

She smirked, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "She would want all the toys that required the most assembly. Why didn't you wake me? I could've helped."

Gregory shook his head. "You were asleep and you needed to rest," he said simply. He watched her quietly, the sunlight glaring off the dark lenses as she looked back at him. He couldn't see them, but he felt her eyes on him. A tingle went up his spine as she inched closer to him. "She's not awake yet, is she? I would've heard her."

Olivia shook her head slowly as a gust of breeze stirred the pile of hair on her head. "Oh no. Dad was up late reading to her. I don't think she'll be up for at least another hour."

"Good," he replied, closing his eyes against the warm sun. "Another hour of peace and quiet before Hurricane Caitlin graces us."

"She's just excited. It'll be worse next year when she knows how wonderful Christmas morning is."

His eyes opened a crack as a proud smile warmed his face. "We'll have the new baby next year too."

She sat up and touched her stomach, rubbing it softly. "Yes," she whispered, a quiet sigh on her lips. "Yes, we will."

He leaned forward, reaching for her hand. Her flesh was cool to his touch as he wrapped his hand around hers. She didn't flinch or pull away, her hand steady within his. "I need to say something," he began, feeling a slight tremor in his grasp, "about what you said that night."

His touch warmed her, staving off the chill that swept through her bones. She looked down at her lap, ice dripping into the pit of her stomach as he cleared his throat. "You said that this wasn't our baby. That you weren't-"

"Gregory," she croaked, his name a plea to stop.

"-who I wanted at that moment." Her hand shook uncontrollably and he squeezed it gently. "Liv," he said, pressing his hand lightly to her stomach, "this is our baby, our _love_, in every way." His thumb stroked her stomach as he looked up into her eyes. "Just ours. Only _ours_."

She looked away, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. She forgot how, she realized as she gasped for air. He sat up, moving closer to her as he reached for her shoulder. She leaned into him like second nature, the warm scent of his cologne enveloping her as he hugged her close. Her arms were iron around him, gripping him as if her life depended on it. He held her close as she sighed against his neck. "Gregory," she whispered as he cupped her cheek.

Her weight against him was a quiet pleasure as he embraced her tighter. He leaned back against the lounge, her head tucked beneath his chin as she fit neatly in the space between his legs. He rubbed her back, trembling beneath his hand as he willed a calm about her. Her breathing regained a measure of steadiness, her breath soft against his chest. "I want to make this right," he whispered. "Please let me."

The life within her moved, making its voice known as his statement blanketed them. Her hand snaked up, resting over his heart. The beat echoed within his chest, a rhythmic thump that she nodded against. She pressed her hand into his chest as it shuddered beneath her. Sitting up slowly, she pulled off the sunglasses, looking into his eyes. The world was reflected in them, as wide as the ocean and just as deep. She touched her finger to his mouth as she watched him, tracing the curve of his lower lip. "I want you to," she replied in a hush, the tremble of her chin matching the waver in her voice.

The pressure in his chest rose into his throat where it settled painfully. He nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed the soft lobe of her ear and she shivered as she leaned back against him.

"You know, it's just you," he whispered. "It's _always_ been you."

* * *

Officer Craig sat across from Cashlin, sighing at her glare. "Why aren't you writing that down?" she hissed. "It was Gregory Richards. I'm _sure_ of it." 

"Mrs. Russell," he began, strain revealing itself, "we will investigate that, but right now, I just need to take your statement. What did the intruder look like?"

Cashlin sighed, bordering on frustration as she jumped up. "White male, tanned with dark brown eyes. Mid-twenties to early thirties and anywhere between 5'10" and 6 feet. He wore a black t-shirt, black jeans, a black ski mask and rubber gloves. Happy?" she spat out, tightening the belt of her robe.

"Immensely," he snapped, standing as he closed his notebook. "I'll file a report and send it over for you to sign. In the mean time, I would recommend that you change your locks and invest in a home security system. With a house this large, you can never be too careful."

She tapped her foot impatiently and licked her lips, grimacing where she could still taste the glue. "What about Gregory Richards?"

"I'll question him, of course."

"Question him, nothing!" she shrieked. "Arrest him!"

"Ma'am, I'll need some evidence before I can do that."

She chuckled ruefully. "It was _him_," she insisted. "This wasn't the first time he's done this." Craig's face changed and she pressed on. "He pushed his way in and assaulted me. He tried to strangle me, just like the man this morning!"

"When was this?"

"Just a few weeks ago," she said, sinking down to the white sofa. "I was quite frightened of him after that," she added as the officer reclaimed his seat across from her. "And I had bruises on my back from where he threw me against the door."

"Did you report it?" he asked, scribbling a thought into his notebook.

Cashlin shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "I couldn't. We work together on a number of cases and-"

Craig looked up at the silence, eyeing her sharply. "And?"

"We were having an affair," she said simply, reaching for her case of cigarettes and the book of matches. "_I_ ended it." He nodded, looking back to his notebook as she ignited the end of the cigarette. "He wasn't willing to let it, or me, go so easily."

"So, he forced is way in and," he trailed off, leaving her the reigns to explain.

She narrowed her eyes, exhaling deeply. "He let me know how upset he was," she finished, gesturing to her neck. "In the end, I threatened to go to our superiors unless he stayed away. He knew that if I did, it would jeopardize a number of our cases as well as his position in the firm."

"And that was the only time he threatened you?"

"Other than this morning, you mean?" He nodded and she nodded in return.

"The man this morning," he began, closing his book and looking her square in the eye, "was it Gregory Richards?"

Cashlin took a long drag on the cigarette, inhaling deeply as she looked away in thought. "No," she answered after a long moment, breathing smoke. "But Gregory is involved in this. And I want the full weight of the law to come down on him."

* * *

Caitlin's shriek of glee rippled across the living room as she tore into a large package. "A stroller for my baby!" she exclaimed, ripping the shiny paper away from the box. She pulled the box closer, examining the picture on the front of the box. 

Gregory looked up and met Olivia's gaze. She smiled at him, gathering the torn pieces of wrapping paper into a pile. He reached under the tree for a long box and stood, making his way to where Olivia sat on the sofa. Thomas and Barbara were keeping Caitlin busy with her new presents, the three of them huddled over the elaborate dollhouse that stood next to the tree. "She loves that dollhouse," Olivia said as he sat next to her.

"She should," he replied softly, turning the box in his hand. "It took over an hour to put together." He held the box out to her, the gold box sparkling in the sun that streamed through the open patio doorway. "Now this," he said as she stared at the package, "was much easier to put together."

She glanced at him suspiciously as she took the box from him. The paper gave easily and she opened the jeweler's box slowly. The black velvet was smooth in her hands and her lips parted. "Oh, Gregory," she sighed, quiet awe clinging to her breath.

The white gold band rested on a bed of crème colored satin, twisting into a whimsical heart. From the heart hung two round stones, winking merrily in the light. "For Caitlin," he said explained, fingering the diamond, "and aquamarine for our March 8th baby." He took the bracelet and fastened it around her slender wrist. "I thought," he continued as he adjusted the piece of jewelry, "that a bracelet would be easier for you to wear than a ring."

She bit her lip as he gently massaged her swollen fingers. "It's beautiful," she whispered, looking up at him. His eyes were soft, drawing her in as she watched him. He smiled boyishly, evoking the memory of the young lawyer she fell in love with. She cupped his face as she leaned closer to him. His eyes held her, enticing her as she pressed her lips gently to his. He sighed against her as she placed a chaste kiss on his mouth and pulled away. "I love it.

He brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder, tracing the edge of her robe with his finger. "I'm glad."

Olivia reached up slowly, capturing his finger and sliding her hand within his. He looked up slowly, reveling at the gesture as a comforting warmth swept through him. She smiled gently, resting her head on his shoulder as he enveloped her in an embrace. Caitlin's giggle drifted over to them, a lyrical reminder of all that they shared.

The doorbell rang insistently, drowning out the soft carols humming out of the stereo speakers. They looked over as Barbara glanced up and Thomas asked, "Who could that be on Christmas Day?"

"I'll get it," Gregory said as he stood and walked over to the front door. Olivia met her mother's curious eyes and shrugged as he opened the door. "Yes?"

"Gregory Richards? I'm Officer Michael Craig. May I speak with you, sir?"

Olivia pushed herself up from the deep comfort of the sofa as Gregory opened the door wider. "Mum? Dad? Will you take Caitlin into the kitchen?"

"Right, love," Thomas murmured as Barbara took Caitlin's hand. "I'll start making the breakfast."

Gregory watched them leave, meeting Olivia's eyes as she neared him. "What is this regarding, Officer?"

"I'm investigating a break-in. A masked intruder invaded Cashlin Russell's home early this morning." He paused, searching Gregory's face for a flicker of reaction. "Do you know anything that might be pertinent to the investigation?"

Gregory shook his head, cocking his head in thought. "I'm sorry, Officer, but I don't see how I would."

Craig nodded, taking a step closer to the couple. "Mrs. Russell said in her statement that she believed you may be involved. She also said that you forced your way into her home approximately six weeks ago and assaulted her." He watched as Olivia's face hardened and she turned slowly to her husband. "Are you sure that you don't want to rethink your previous answer?"

"I'm quite sure I don't," Gregory replied as Olivia's eyes burned a hole through him. They narrowed as she met his and her lips disappeared into a thin line. "Cashlin has defended a number of provocative clients. Perhaps one of the alleged victims is targeting her for revenge."

"Perhaps. Of course, we'll be looking into all of her cases." He cleared his throat, shades of apology flashing across his face as he looked at Olivia. "Sir, given your _personal_ relationship with Mrs. Russell and the nature of her accusations, I'd like to ask you to come down to the station and answer a few questions."

"But, it's Christmas!" Olivia exclaimed, glaring at the officer as she crossed her arms irritably.

Gregory turned to her, shaking his head slowly. "It's alright, Olivia," he said softly, touching her arm lightly.

"The hell it is," she hissed as he slowly drew her away from the officer's perked ears. "I can _not_ believe this."

"Olivia, I'm going to go downtown and answer his questions. I'll be home in an hour or two at the most," he whispered, as if it was the most normal thing to be discussing on Christmas Day. "Maybe sooner, if I leave now and we stop giving the officer a reason to be suspicious."

She looked over Gregory's shoulder to across the foyer where the officer stood, watching them with great interest. She wrenched her hand away from his, the bracelet suddenly heavy around her wrist. "Fine."

He grasped her shoulders, leaning forward to kiss her. He held her closer, his mouth even with her ear. "I'm sorry about this," he murmured, his lips grazing her cheek.

Olivia closed the door behind them, locking the door with a finality that echoed in the quiet. She leaned against the door, sighing heavily. "Six weeks," she muttered, closing her eyes. "Six weeks."


	19. Six Weeks

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 19: "Six Weeks"

"So," Craig began, tapping the end of his pencil on the table, "it was _you_ who ended the affair."

"Yes."

"Not Mrs. Russell."

His face tightened slightly as his brow furrowed. "No."

"And you ended it because…" Gregory's stony face was a silent response and Craig cleared his throat. "I understand this must be difficult-"

"Difficult? Difficult is leaving your wife and child on Christmas. All of this," Gregory explained, spreading his hands wide, "is ridiculous."

Craig frowned and tilted his head. "I doubt Mrs. Russell would call it ridiculous."

His fingers drummed the table irritably. "Well, there you have it." He leaned back in the unforgiving chair, a blank stare becoming his face. "Cashlin Russell is as truthful as Nixon."

"So, you didn't try to strangle her in her home six weeks ago? You didn't hire someone to break into her home this morning?"

"Hardly not," he scoffed and glanced down at his watch. "Officer, would you agree that I've answered every question you've asked of me for the last two hours?" Craig nodded and he continued, "You have no evidence, physical or otherwise, that I had anything to do with whatever happened at Cashlin's home this morning, correct?"

"Yes," Craig hissed.

"In fact, the only thing you do have is Cashlin's word." He chuckled to himself, leaning forward as he continued, "A first year law student at the worst university could tear her statement to shreds in a matter of moments. She's a bitter woman on the brink of insanity." He stood, pushing the plastic chair back from the table. "And we both know that's not enough to keep me here, unless of course there's something you're not sharing?"

Craig grimaced and shook his head slowly. "Good. Then we both agree that I am free to leave and return to my home," Gregory said, coming around the table. "You don't know my mother-in-law's cooking." He looked the officer from head to toe, sizing him up as he nodded. "If there's anything else-"

"I know where to find you," Craig murmured as Gregory strode out of the interrogation room. He followed him out, watching the receding figure as footsteps echoed down the hall. "Damn," he sighed.

"Hi, Mike. What are you doing here?"

Craig turned, nodding at the speaker. "Hey, Jeannie. I could ask you the same question."

Jeannie Harris grinned and leaned against the cool metal of the filing cabinet. "Donald stayed in Berkeley to spend Christmas with his kids. He'll be back tomorrow and I had nowhere else to be."

"You know how sad that sounds?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "All too well. How about you?"

He shrugged and nodded in the direction that Gregory had just departed. "Just trying to wrap up a home invasion."

"Oh yeah? What've you got?"

"Not much," he sighed, rubbing his exhausted face. "Just a case of he said-she said."

"Just what you wanted for Christmas, I'm sure," Jeannie deadpanned with a wink. She slapped his shoulder and smiled warmly. "Come on, file your 940 and let's head over to Union's for a drink."

"Ah, forget the 940," he grinned, tossing the report folder into the inbox. "It's five o'clock somewhere, my shift ended hours ago and I'm overdue for a cold one."

* * *

Olivia sat quietly at the kitchen table, watching as her mother hovered over the stove. She wrapped her hands around the piping hot mug, warming herself. Steam rose from the mug, curling and twisting in the early afternoon air. She lifted the cup, blowing gingerly on the surface of the tea as Barbara closed the oven and turned around. "Well," she sighed, wiping her hands on the apron cinched at her waist, "in four hours, we'll have turkey."

She smiled weakly as her mother sat across from her, brushing her blond curls back. "You didn't have to do all of the cooking."

"Nonsense. I'm happy to do it. Besides," Barbara pointed out, stirring a splash of milk into her tea, "_you_ weren't going to cook."

Her brow arched as she met her mother's amused smile. "Yes, well…," she hedged, gently sipping her tea. "We can't all be gourmet chefs like you."

"Oh, flattery will get you _everywhere_." She laughed and turned around, glancing at the wall clock. "I'll just wait a tick before I start the potatoes."

A pair of feet thundered down the back stairwell and Caitlin ran into the kitchen. "Mommy," she exclaimed, waving a small foil covered tube as a paper crown slid over her eyes, "Poppop got a crown for me!"

"Did he?" Olivia asked as Caitlin climbed onto her lap. The little girl nodded and she reached out, smoothing her hair down and fixing the crown on her head. "You look very pretty."

"I miss Daddy." She leaned against her mother's chest and sighed, "Where's Daddy?"

Olivia sat mute, her hand frozen on Caitlin's head when Barbara said, "Do you know that your Nana lost her head?"

"No, you didn't," Caitlin giggled, pointing. "It's right there, silly!"

"I did," Barbara insisted. "You see, I forgot the chestnuts for our dinner. Your Daddy had to go out and get me some."

"Oh." She looked up at her mother, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Do I like chestynuts?"

"I don't know. You'll try it and we'll see." She kissed Caitlin's forehead and the child slid off her. "You go play with your new dollhouse. Daddy will be back soon."

The child ran out of the room and Barbara looked closely at Olivia. "Will he?"

Olivia sighed. "I don't know. I hope so."

Her bracelets knocked together as she began shaving the skins off the potatoes. "You said they shouldn't keep him long." She watched as Olivia shrugged and looked away, wringing her hands. "Though I can't imagine any of his cases would be so important that he'd need to leave on Christmas Day."

"It's an important case that he's worked on for awhile," she murmured, forcing the lie out of her mouth. "And he did promise he'd be home as soon as he could."

They sat quietly for several moments as the repetitive scrape of the peeler against the potatoes filled the silence. Warm smells blanketed the kitchen as the turkey slowly roasted in the stove. "You and Gregory," Barbara said as she began cutting the spuds into fours, "seemed quite cozy on the patio when we came down this morning." She watched as Olivia smiled coyly over the rim of her mug. "Well?"

"Well what?" she asked softly, sipping the tea.

"You know, you really can be quite stubborn when you want to be," the older woman muttered, running golden olive oil along the bottom of the baking pan. She began lightly dredging the potatoes through seasoned flour and placing them in the pan.

"When I want to be," Olivia agreed, rubbing her hands together. The new bracelet caught the sun, sparkling in the light. She held out her wrist, admiring the way the birthstones hung from the heart. He could still awe her, she thought to herself as she leaned back. He probably always would.

"Be that way," Barbara sighed, covering the baking dish and setting it aside.

"I think I will." She stood slowly, stretching as she padded over to the counter and dumped her mug in the sink. "And, I think I'm ready for a nap."

"We'll go up, love. Your father's sleeping, I'm seeing to the cooking and I'll bring Caitlin in. She'd love to help."

"Thanks, Mum."

She cupped her daughter's face, kissing her nose. "Don't be silly. Now, go upstairs and rest."

Olivia nodded, squeezing her mother's hand once before she left the kitchen. Her footsteps were silent as she walked through the quiet house to the living room. Clusters of opened presents littered the floor, organized neatly into stacks. Caitlin kneeled before her dollhouse, humming to herself as she walked a doll up the miniature staircase. Olivia smiled and leaned against the column as she watched her. "Having fun?"

The little girl looked up and smiled sweetly as she nodded. Her long blond hair glowed in the afternoon sunlight, a golden halo around her head. "Would you like to go help Nana cook the dinner?"

"Ok!" Caitlin shouted as she jumped up and ran out of the room.

She waited until her daughter turned the corner into the kitchen before she sighed and faced the stairs. She gripped the banister, contemplating the steep staircase when the front door opened. Gregory walked into the foyer, looking up slowly when he noticed his wife. "You're back," she said simply as he neared her.

"I told you I would be," he said softly. He touched her arm lightly, his fingertips cold against her flesh. She shivered as he looked away, walking past her to the stairs.

"Are you alright?"

He turned from the steps and extended his hand. "I'm fine. Are you coming up?"

She nodded slowly, taking his hand as she met him on the stairs. He wrapped his arm around her as she leaned against him. They walked in step, slow moving for her benefit. "What did the police say?" she asked quietly as they neared the second floor.

"Nothing."

Olivia glanced over, narrowing her eyes. "They didn't drag you out of here on Christmas for 'nothing'."

He turned to her as he stepped onto the second floor, shaking his head dismissively. "One woman's ludicrous accusations weren't enough to keep me there and that officer knew it."

She listened quietly, following him down the hallway. He held open the door to their bedroom and she walked passed him, pulling her hair free. It tumbled down her back like a waterfall as she shook it loose. "Ludicrous?"

He poked his head out of the closet, watching her as she sat on the foot of the bed. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, pulling the navy polo over his head and tossing it into the hamper. "Don't tell me you believe what that cop said." She shrugged and he walked over to the bed, staring down at her. "Olivia?"

She looked up at him, the silence stretching between them like an unsteady bridge as he waited for her answer. "Six weeks ago. Is it true?"

He sank onto the mattress next to her and took her hand. "Liv, the woman is insane." Her expectant eyes met his and he moved closer to her. "She refused to accept it when I ended the affair." She looked away and he reached for her face, cupping her cheeks. "Because of _you_. I ended things with her the morning after we found out you were pregnant."

"Because of me," she repeated lamely, covering his hands and sliding them away from her face.

"Of course, because of you. Liv, it was a new beginning for us when we found out you were pregnant. That morning after, in the bathroom," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "we recommitted to each other."

She bit the corner of her lip, looking down at the bedspread where their entwined hands lay. "It was the first time we made love in months," she whispered, her voice thick as she looked back at him. Shame clouded his face as she sighed shakily. "Why her? Why anyone?"

"Olivia-"

"Answer me."

Gregory stood, turning away from her as he walked over to the window. He couldn't face her eyes and see the way they painfully gazed back at him. He leaned against the sill of the open window, a warm breeze stirring his hair as the sun warmed his bare chest. She looked over her shoulder, watching him stand at the window with his head bowed. "Did you love her?" she asked softly.

"Of course not," he exclaimed, looking up slowly. The muscles of his back rippled beneath his flesh as he straightened up and turned back to her. "I love _you_."

"But that didn't stop you," she snapped, crossing her arms as she turned her back on him.

Her chest was painfully tight and she pressed her hand over her heart. "It didn't mean anything."

"It means everything because I ended the affair."

Her face fell as she stood and turned slowly to him. "Would you have ended it if I wasn't pregnant?" she whispered. "Or would you have continued to see that woman?"

Anguish tore across his face, chilling her flesh as he saw her eyes harden. "Liv," he said in a barely audible whisper, moving closer to her, "of course I-"

"Don't!" She flung an accusatory finger at him, poking him in the middle of his chest. Her voice wavered as he covered her hand with his. "Don't you dare say you would've ended it. I _know_ you. You thought it would never come out. You thought that you wouldn't get caught," she hissed, eyes blazing and chest heaving. His jaw was tight, his face unreadable. "And you would've gone on_ fucking_ that woman until the day came when I walked in on the two of you."

She glared at him, wrenching her hand away from his. "And even then," she continued, her voice patronizingly lethal, "you probably still would've tried to explain it away. The way you're trying to now."

The world around him imploded, crumbling down to the foundations of his once controlled and orderly life. This morning was a nearly forgotten memory, her kiss a distant flutter against his lips. He turned away from her accusing eyes, sitting defeated on the bed. The remedy had revealed itself as poison against him. Darkness clouded the periphery of his vision as a charged roar in his ears filled the silence in the bedroom. "You don't know," he said, his voice low. "I-"

The lower half of her body moved across his vision, the red silk falling in graceful folds around her. "I know because you _still_ think you won't get caught," he heard her say. Her voice was far away, reaching him in pieces of a fragmented echo. "The same way I know that six weeks ago, we came back from Montserrat."

He looked up slowly, the haze surrounding her clearing as she gazed down at him. "Six weeks ago, that woman was assaulted in her home. And six weeks ago," she murmured, "after we came back from Montserrat, you went out and returned with a nearly broken hand." She leaned down, cradling his hand as if it were hurt still. "Are you still going to tell me you got it caught in the car trunk?"

His face fell as she stepped back, her fingers curling in the tense air. "Stop lying to me," she whispered, hugging her arms around herself as she moved away from him. Her eyes were fixed on him as her words resonated deep within him. "Stop lying." She backed into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.

Alone now in the bedroom, Gregory stood slowly. He walked to the closed door, resting his forehead against the cool wood as his hand skimmed the surface of the knob. The tattered remains of the way things used to be flapped sadly in the wind that breezed through the bedroom. She was slipping away from him at the moment he most wanted her with him. This was all there was now. A door in between them. An impenetrable barrier that kept her just out of his reach.

His hand fell away from the doorknob, floating on the air as he turned away. The room stretched before him, swallowing him within a swirling vortex. His breathing filled the silence as he leaned over the bureau. The reflection in the mirror haunted him as a tortured soul looked back at him. He glared into the mirror, hating the person that he saw in it. The one that hurt his wife and destroyed her faith in him. The one that was failing to hold it all together.

_You still think you're better than me, boy?_

His father's rough voice tore through him and he winced, lowering his head. _You think just because you won that scholarship to that fancy school that you're better than me? All those grades your teachers were always going on about don't mean nothing. You're nothing. You're always going to be a worthless nothing. You messed up big this time, sonny. You've ruined it all. You think that pretty wife is going to stick around much longer? Think again, boy. Think again._

Gregory looked up slowly, blind fury clouding his face. His father's drunken chuckle echoed in the silence, tormenting him from the grave. "Get out of my head, Bruce," he growled through clenched teeth. His hand shot out, wrapping around the bottle of perfume before he smashed it into the mirror. With a small pop, the delicate bottle broke and a deep crack snaked across the mirror. The perfume dripped through his fingers, scented puddles forming on the surface of the bureau. "Stay dead," he whispered, rubbing his torn and bloody fingers together as the bathroom door flew open.

"What was that?" Olivia asked, bracing the doorjamb as she looked into the bedroom.

"Watch your feet," he said as she moved closer to him, her bare feet padding across the floor.

"Oh my…," she gasped, cupping his hand gently. She looked up at him, her blue eyes frowning as she drew him closer. "Gregory-"

"It's fine." She shook her head and pulled him into the bathroom. The cool water streamed out of the faucet and she held his hand beneath it. The blood rinsed away, staining the porcelain basin as the water swirled down the drain. "It's only a nick," he pointed out as her fingers brushed over the cut.

She bit her lip as he winced slightly and then murmured, "I just want to make sure there's no glass in it." She glanced up at him as she wrapped his hand in a fluffy towel and patted it dry. "You're lucky it's not deep."

He leaned against the counter as she reached into the medicine cabinet for a small tin. "What is that?" he asked as she tore open the bright pink band-aid and wrapped it around his finger.

Biting back a grin, she shrugged her shoulders and she threw the wrapper in the wastebasket. "Caitlin likes them."

He reached for her hand as she turned back to him, squeezing her hand lightly. "Liv, you were right." She watched him quietly as he looked down, unable to hold her gaze. "About everything," he said softly.

"I don't want to be right," she sighed, inching closer to him. He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close as she leaned against him.

"I just…I couldn't tell you," he confessed, resting his forehead against hers. "I knew how much it would hurt you." His chest throbbed, painful from all that still remained unspoken. "And in the end, that's the very thing I ended up doing." She looked up sadly, heartbreak written across her face as a cold, dead sensation swept through his insides. "I'm sorry, Liv," he said in a broken whisper. "I'm so sorry."

She gasped and looked away, her palms splayed against his chest. Her eyes were hollow, seeing the bathroom through foreign eyes as he sighed. "I never- never wanted to hurt you," he continued, smoothing her dark hair back as he cupped her face. "She was a mistake. It meant nothing. _You_ are everything to me. You have to know that."

The silence stretched between them and his heart slowed until she whispered, "I do."

He crushed her to him, quietly relieved when she squeezed back just as tight. "I'll make this up to you," he whispered in her ear. "I'll make everything the way it used to be."

Saying it was easy. Words were the easiest thing to summon to demonstrate one's courage. The simplest words when spoken with enough conviction could make even the most ardent skeptic a believer. But it was the action one took that demonstrated the true test of their determination and strength. It was the action that would be remembered long after words faded from memory.


	20. Detective Harris

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 20: Detective Harris

Cashlin stepped off the elevator, gripping her briefcase as she turned in the direction of her office. Her heels clicked down the hall, echoing off the polished floor. She nodded curtly at the people she passed, never breaking her purposeful stride for what would surely be an exchange of idle pleasantries. There was no time for that. There never was.

She passed Gregory's suite of offices with nary a second glance. Instead, she squared her shoulders and looked ahead to where her offices were. She turned in the doorway, colliding with Ruth. The petite woman squeaked, dropping the heavy cardboard boxes she juggled in her arms. "Ruth," she sighed as the boxes clattered to the floor, narrowly missing her own feet. "Watch where you're going."

Ruth nodded, her eyes wide behind the thick lenses of her glasses. She stooped quickly, heaving the boxes back into her arms. "I'm sorry," she whispered, watching as Cashlin stopped at her desk in the reception area.

"Why is your desk clear?" She set her briefcase and handbag on the empty desk and turned around. "Are you resigning?"

"No." She glanced nervously over her shoulder, looking for an escape into the hallway. She shrank away, her back pressed against the doorjamb as the other woman bridged the short distance between them. "Mrs. Sporos re-assigned me."

"Where?"

She gulped as the boxes strained the endurance of her arms. "Down the hall," she admitted reluctantly, shifting the cartons in her hands. "To Mr. Richards's office."

Her red lips parted incredulously as she narrowed her eyes. "Did she?" she murmured.

Ruth's nod fell blind as Cashlin turned away, slowly walking toward her closed office door. "Mrs. Russell," she gasped, feeling the boxes begin to slip from her grasp, "I need to-"

"Get out," Cashlin hissed, glancing over her shoulder when she heard the young woman's retreating footsteps. "Unbelievable." She stalked over to the door, yanking on the knob. It was stuck. She twisted at the knob, swearing under her breath as she leaned her weight against the solid wood. "Open up, damnit."

"It's locked, Ms. Russell."

A chill raced down her spine as she turned around. "Mr. Vickers," she said graciously, smiling widely. She nodded at Helena Sporos, who stood a step behind the founding partner of the law firm. "I hope you had a pleasant holiday."

The Mason Vickers nodded, glancing around the quiet office. A map of the world was written across his face, weathered with a lifetime of experience. The dark blue suit was pressed crisp, offsetting his bright blue eyes and the white hair on his head. "I did, thank you," he said as he leaned against the desk. "This, however, is not a social call."

Foreboding sank deep in the pit of her stomach and she managed a small nod. She glanced at Helena and said, "I see."

He cleared his throat, his eyes flickering over Cashlin. "When Allan Erickson and I founded this firm in 1947, we did so with a certain philosophy. We opened our doors and based our entire firm's livelihood on our integrity. Without it, this firm would not be what it is today. Above all else, this firm has always stood for and fostered an undying respect for the law." He stood tall, clasping his hands behind him. "Respect, Ms. Russell."

She swallowed deeply, pursing her lips as Mason deep voice echoed in the office. "Long after we are dead and buried, the law will endure. It has endured for two thousand years, withstanding the worst of acts of nature and inhumanity. It will endure for another two thousand." He looked closely at Cashlin, the strong features of his face hardening. "It endures today. _Erickson Vickers _will not tolerate disrespect for the law. Especially," he added, his voice dropping as Helena closed the door softly, "not by our employees.

"Mr. Vickers," Cashlin began, "I'm not sure I-"

He held up his hand, silencing raining down on them. "Ms. Russell, you've been released."

Her eyes narrowed as the breath died in her throat. "Re-released?" she stuttered. "Mr. Vickers-"

"It is too late to argue, Ms. Russell."

"But, I don't understand."

Mason shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Come, come, Ms. Russell. These games are infantile. Naturally, we will provide you with a comfortable severance."

"I don't give a damn about severance!" she exploded. "I deserve to know why I'm being fired!"

He paused, a long beat of silence that sat amongst the trio. "Quite frankly, Ms. Russell, there is lack of substance that I find disturbing. We will not tolerate or condone the criminal activities of our employees."

"Criminal? There's been some mistake."

"There is no mistake," Mason assured her. "Illegal entry into Gregory Richards's office and the destruction of his property is a serious matter. We're fortunate that he's not holding us responsible for property damage. Additionally, you've opened us up to serious liability if any of our clients ever learned of this lapse in security."

"Gregory," she hissed, darkness clouding her face. She glared at her now former employer and then Helena. "This is his doing. He-"

"Cashlin," Helena said softly, placing her hand on her arm, "it's over. There's nothing more to say. Please remove your personal belongings from your office-"

"No!" Cashlin's rich voice rang out as she shook off Helena's touch. "This is not about disrespect for the law and security lapses." She squared her shoulders, anger crackling out of her eyes. "This is because I am a woman. I am being punished for having an affair with Gregory." Sheer will made her seem larger that her petite frame as she stood scant inches from Mason. "If I was a man, I would've been patted on the back and invited into the parlor for a nip of Johnnie Walker Blue. Instead, I'm being punished for _his_ indiscretions when _he_ is the one engaging in criminal activities."

Mason and Helena exchanged a long look. "Ms. Russell," he began slowly, quiet seriousness quavering his voice, "I am going to ignore the implication that there are personal factors motivating this decision. You are lucky that the police have not been brought into this matter." He nodded at Helena and stepped away from the desk. "There is no discounting the evidence. You will pack up your personal belongings and be off the premises in one hour." He opened the door, nodding at the two security guards outside as he said to them, "One hour."

Helena looked once more at Cashlin, who stood defeated in the office, before following Mason out. "Is what she said true?" she asked softly as they walked down the hall.

He glanced at her sharply, pressing the up button on the elevator. "She is being fired for violating company policy. Her personal relationship with Richards is incidental." The elevator opened and he stepped inside. "I've already spoken to him."

Her hand shot out, triggering the motion sensors and stopping the doors from closing. "I don't need to remind you of the lawsuit she could slap us with if she can prove that her affair had even the tiniest bearing on her termination."

Mason frowned, smoothing the front of his suit down. "I don't believe I need to remind _you_ that I dislike repeating myself." He cocked his head, staring at her until she relented and moved her hand away. "Good day, Ms. Sporos," he said before the doors sealed shut.

* * *

"What a mess." 

Detective Jeannie Harris raised her eyebrow at the statement and cleared her throat. "Morales, pretend that you've seen a dead body before," she said, fanning a swarm of flies away from her face. She nodded at the bed as one of the investigators raised a camera. "What do you say, doc?"

The medical examiner glanced up, looking over the wire frame of his eyeglasses. He shook his head as the bright flash of the camera exploded over the scene. "Given the state of decomposition, I would put the time of death between twelve and fifteen days ago. Give or take," he added as he stood, breathing heavily from the effort of his large frame.

Harris nodded, looking down at the bed. The victim's long blond hair was fanned beneath her head, her eyes rolled upward to the cross above the bed. She watched as Morales leaned close, examining the deep gouge that ran across the victim's throat. He coughed, inhaling the raw odor that emanated from the dead body as a maggot wriggled out of the wound. She rolled her eyes as he flinched and she grabbed his shoulder, jerking him up. "Go get some air and then canvass the neighbors. See if anyone remembers anything from two weeks ago."

"Hell," he muttered, shielding his mouth and nose, "I'll be lucky if they remember yesterday." He looked past her and back to the bed. "How anyone didn't smell that before now I'll never know."

"I'm going to talk to the landlady next," she called out as he left the apartment. "She called it in."

Harris stood in the middle of the small living room and turned in a small circle, her charcoal eyes scanning the room. Cheery lace curtains hung at the window and poster prints of flowers decorated the pale pink walls. The departed was a fan of wicker, she thought, running her hand over the arm of the small arm chair. And pink.

She moved closer to the low coffee table, peering at the picture frames arranged on the surface. A smiling girl stood between an older couple, swathed in a white graduation gown and clutching a bouquet of pink roses. She looked at another one, seeing the smiling girl with her arms wrapped around a little boy. The other photos were the same: always smiling.

She walked back into the bedroom, looking down at the bed. The once rosy flesh was scaly gray, her smiling mouth frozen in repose. All that remained now was only the shell of the abundant young woman in all the photographs. "You about done?"

The medical examiner nodded and whispered something to his assistant. "We'll have some more conclusive answers for you after we perform the autopsy. For now though, you're looking for a right-handed assailant. One that is at least three inches shorter than the victim."

She looked up from her notebook. "Shorter? You think it was a woman?"

He shrugged. "Or a short man. But that's your job to figure out, Detective."

"Right," she sighed, watching as his assistants began moving the body into the black bag for transport to the morgue. She turned away, shoving her notebook into the back pocket of her gray trousers. She could never stand to watch the bodies packed away like yesterday's laundry.

Outside the apartment, Harris leaned against the railing, gasping. Fresh air rushed into her lungs, perfumed by the rose bushes that grew alongside the stairs. She gripped the railing, her steps shaking the wooden staircase. The grass crunched beneath her feet as she walked across the backyard and she took a deep breath before she opened the screen door. The woman sitting in the kitchen jumped, shaking the table. "Mrs. Sanchez?" she asked gently. "I'm Detective Harris." She nodded at the patrol cop who stood in the corner as she took the seat next to the agitated woman. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about your tenant, Nancy McCarthy."

The screen door closed behind the patrol cop as he left, drowning out Mrs. Sanchez's cry. "Poor Nancy," she sobbed, hiding her face in her hands.

Harris sat quietly as the woman cried, opening her notebook. "I'm very sorry for your loss," she offered after several moments, passing the woman a tissue. "Were you and Nancy close?"

"Oh, yes. She was a lovely young woman. So polite and good natured." She sighed, patting her puffy eyes dry.

She nodded and picked up her pen. "How long had she lived in the apartment over your garage?"

"Nearly four years. She was more like my family, Detective Harris." Mrs. Sanchez gasped suddenly, covering her mouth. "Has someone called her parents?"

"Not yet. I was hoping you could give me their phone number."

"Of course," she said, reaching for the small book next to the phone. "Nancy's parents live in a small town in Ontario. That's where she grew up." She flipped through the pages, pointing to an entry as she passed Harris the book. "There," she said, sniffling.

She copied down the information and looked back up. "Thank you. Now, what sort of girl was Nancy?"

Mrs. Sanchez sighed, clasping her hands on the table. "Like I said, she was lovely. Everyone loved her."

"Did she have any enemies?"

"Certainly not!"

"Of course," Harris said apologetically, leaning closer. "What did Nancy do?"

"She was studying to be an actress." Pride was threaded through Mrs. Sanchez's words and she sat up straighter. "She took classes at that little theater over on Bay Street on the weekends."

"And during the week?"

"She was a secretary. She worked for a lawyer- oh, what was his name?"

"That's alright, Mrs. Sanchez. We can have someone look that up." Her pen flew across the slender notebook paper and she glanced up. "Had Nancy mentioned anything or anyone bothering her the last time you saw her?"

Fresh tears welled in Mrs. Sanchez's eyes and she gripped the already sodden tissue. "I should've checked her apartment before I left," she wailed. Her hand shook as she brushed the hot tears from her cheeks. "I knew that Nancy wanted to go home to Woodbridge for Christmas, but with her job, she didn't know when she would be able to leave. Before I left for my sister's, I knocked on her door to say goodbye, but there was no answer." She covered her face with her hands, muffling her voice as she cried, "I just thought that she left early."

Harris cleared her throat over the woman's tortured cry and said, "You couldn't have known, Mrs. Sanchez. There's no way."

"I just feel so responsible," she muttered, her eyes stained red as she looked across to the detective.

"You were a very good friend to Nancy," she reminded her. "You can still be a good friend by remembering anything she may have told you, even in confidence."

Mrs. Sanchez nodded seriously, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Nancy rarely complained," she explained. "She always had such a positive outlook on things."

"Always?"

The woman looked away, her eyes glazed over in thought. "Now that you mention it," she said softly, turning back to Harris, "she did say something about her job." Harris nodded encouragingly as the woman drummed her fingers on the table. "Yes! It was a two days before I left for my sister's. We were outside and Nancy was helping me with rose bushes. She was telling me that her boss was giving her a hard time."

"Hard time?"

Mrs. Sanchez nodded, wringing the tissue in her hands. "Yes, he was short with her and that he blamed her for things going missing or wrong. She said she didn't enjoy working for-for-for…Mr. Richards!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "His name was Mr. Richards!"

Harris smiled, writing down the last note in her book. "Thank you, Mrs. Sanchez. Thank you for your help." She pushed back from the table and stood, closing her notebook. "I'd like to come back in a few days, after you've had some time, and talk to you again about Nancy. Would that be alright?" The woman nodded slowly and followed Harris to the screen door. "In the mean time, if you remember anything- _anything_ at all- you call me."

She took the card, running her finger over the embossed print. "Detective Jeannie Harris," she read. She looked up, grasping the detective's wrist. "Detective, promise me you are going to find the horrible person that did this to Nancy."

Promise. It was such a loaded word, one that had destroyed more people in the history of the known world. Promise. Harris hated it. To promise was to be certain and nothing was ever as certain as people wished they were. She fidgeted uncomfortably and spoke carefully: "I promise that I am going to do my very best to get justice for Nancy."

The older woman smiled in relief, blinking away tears. "Thank you, Detective."

* * *

"Mommy, I want to play with the butterfly!"

Olivia reached out, grasping the box away from Caitlin's eager little hands. "No, no, darling. You can't play with my mask."

The little girl pouted, crossing her arms. "But I want to play dress up with you and Daddy!" she whined, bouncing petulantly on the California king.

"Here," she said, reaching into the drawer for a long scarf and draping the hand painted silk around Caitlin's neck. The child was instantly placated as she held out the material, gazing at the rainbow of colors. "Don't you look lovely?"

"I look pretty!" Caitlin exclaimed, scrambling over to her mother's vanity table to admire her reflection.

"Yes, you do," Olivia murmured, placing the box on a shelf out of her daughter's reach as she walked into Gregory's closet. She went to the back corner, pushing aside the heavy coats that only escaped the closet when they went skiing in Tahoe. The wall was smooth and she felt around for the rough patch, pressing in when she found it. The hidden panel swung open, revealing the safe. She tapped the numbers into the keypad, the familiar beep of the buttons greeting her. 01-30-75. The day Gregory proposed.

The interior of the safe was dark, cool to her touch. She spared a moment to glance through the documents on the top shelf: their marriage certificate, Caitlin's birth certificate, their passports and copies of their wills. She put the papers back, shuffling them into a neat stack as her eyes fell on the bundles of money on the second shelf. For emergencies, Gregory had explained. She shrugged, pulling out the third and fourth drawers before sinking to the floor.

The carpet was soft beneath her as she spread out the boxes, opening them all. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth glittering jewels looked back at her. She picked up the nearest box, examining the contents. Emerald and diamond tear drop earrings. She shook her head, closing it and all the other boxes with emeralds. After a moment's thought, she closed the boxes with rubies and sapphires too.

"What are you doing?"

She looked up at Gregory's question as she reached for another box. "Picking out my jewelry for the masquerade ball."

"Oh." He promptly sat down next to her, watching as she held up a pair of diamond earrings to her ears. "Those are nice."

She smiled at him, placing the gems back in the box. "You picked them out," she reminded him, holding out the box.

"Ah, yes," he said softly as he took them from her, remembering. "From the jeweler on the Champs-Élysées."

"Paris for our first Valentine's Day," Olivia added, smiling in reminiscent thought. "You thought it would be cliché, but we had such a wonderful time." She held up a pair of diamond and pearl bar earrings. "What do you think?"

His face wrinkled distastefully as he shook his head. "No." She frowned as he continued, "In fact, none of these are right."

She raised her eyes as he stood and left the closet. "Where are you going?" she called out. Silence was her only reply and she reached out, closing the remaining boxes. He came back several moments later with an unfamiliar bag and the long box she hid from Caitlin. "What are you doing?"

He sat back on the floor next to her as he explained, "I was hoping to save this for the New Year's Eve, before we left for the ball." She tilted her head, watching him curiously as he removed three boxes and sat them before her. "Open the middle one first," he suggested.

She chuckled, obliging him as she reached for the box. It opened easily and she gasped, glancing back up at him. "This is too much," she sighed as he reached into the box and then for her neck. The white diamond and yellow gold necklace coiled around her throat, begetting a large fanciful butterfly that rested over her heart and a smaller solid one at the nape of her neck. "Gregory-" she began, her fingers fluttering against the pink diamonds that accented the wings.

"Shh," he whispered, moving in front of her. He held out a smaller box, nudging her hand playfully. A smile of delight blossomed across her face as she opened the second box. Her lips curled as he picked up her hand and slid the bracelet onto her wrist. Like the matching necklace, the yellow gold curled around her wrist as three butterflies sprouted from the band.

"And last," he continued softly as he opened the last box for her, parading the contents for her to see, "but certainly not least." The cluster of pink and white diamonds rested in his palm as he fastened them to her ears.

She shivered as his fingers brushed her ear lobes and she looked up at him. "Pink and gold," she whispered as he tucked her hair behind her ears to admire his handiwork. "They'll match my costume."

Gregory opened the long box, the one that Caitlin was so determined to get her hands on. He carefully lifted up the mask, holding it out to her. "Let's see if I was right."

Their hands grazed one and other as she took the arm and held the mask to her face. The polished gold shone in the light, tendrils of pink decorating the left eyehole. A smattering of sparkle dusted the edge, snaking around to where a netting of gold formed a delicate butterfly wing over the entire right side of the mask.

His eyes softened as he watched her and she lowered the mask slowly, her own eyes peering over the top. "Complete silence," she noted, gently returning the elaborate mask to the box. "Never a good thing."

He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as he shook his head. "Only when you can't find the words to describe what you see before you." She blushed, a bashful grin that lit up her face . "You're perfect," he whispered, his fingers brushing against her hand. "Just perfect."

* * *

The setting sun stained the room deep shades of orange and red and I glared, yanking the heavy curtains closed. I was in no mood for the beauty of one of the famous sunsets. _No_ mood.

I reach for the Irish whisky, pouring a generous splash of the golden liquid into the bottom of the old-fashioned glass. My head knocks back, swallowing the contents in a single shot. Warmth blooms in my throat and chest, washing over me as I flinch and pour myself another.

"Fired." I shake my head and glare at the reflection in the mirror. "Here's to you," I chuckle, toasting the absurdity of the day.

The thick bottom of the glass hits the bureau, a loud clink that echoed in the bedroom. I lift the bottom, heavy in my hand as I pour more. My hand shakes, spilling the whisky down the side of the glass and across the wood surface of the bureau. I grasp the tumbler, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe away the slick surface with my hand. "Whatever," I mutter, teetering towards the closet.

The ruby silk flared over the hoop skirt, snug fitting over the bodice. I snicker, reaching out to touch the intricate black lace draped over the skirt. "And to think that I once called this masquerade ball ridiculous," I slur, fanning out the lace trimmed skirt.

Fired. Gregory.

I sip at the whisky, slow now as a warm sensation unfolds in my belly. He would be there. She would be there. _Everyone_ would be there. His phantom whisper tickles my ear and I flinch, gripping the glass.

Fired. Gregory. Fired. Gregory.

The glass flies against the closet door and the shattered glass tinkles to the floor. Whisky rains down on my bare feet and splashes the hem of the costume. Dark spots paint the silk and I ignore them, slipping the garment from the hanger. I hold it close against my chest, extending the sleeves as if I were in the costume and dancing the night away in his arms.

A hum comes from within me, stirring deep in my throat as I waltz around the bedroom. The glass pops beneath me, tearing the soles of my feet to a bloody mess. The whisky is a bitter sting to my wounds, but I don't care. I could feel the warmth of his arms around me, pressing me closer.

The silk whistled, the skirt a graceful swish as he waltzed me to the bed. My head spins and I rest it against his shoulder, closing my eyes as my hum rose to a crescendo. I fell back against the mattress, the costume sliding off me and to the floor. His hands were fire against me, burning a trail across my eager flesh. I gasp as his hands boldly conquered my robe, tearing it away from my body. He leans over me and I grip him closer, my legs wrapping around his as our mouths fight for control. He is eager, bracing my arms back as I rise to meet him.

I bite his mouth, drawing blood that smears across our lips. I reach up, pressing my hand into the back of his head. Our teeth ground together as our tongues curled and danced. My deprived lungs ache and I pant for air as his mouth finds the flesh of my neck. "Say you'll never leave," I gasp, my fingernails raking across his back. "Say it."

He looks up, his brown eyes warm with pent lust. "Never," he repeats, wedging his leg between mine. "Never."


	21. Always

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 21: "Always"

Olivia closed her eyes as the hairdresser sprayed her hair with a lavender scented mist. "I need it up," she explained.

Katherine nodded, combing through the damp tresses. "For the masquerade ball?"

"Yes." She smiled, leaning back in the chair and watching as the hairdresser began twisting her hair into sections. "Eighteenth century Venice."

"Sounds fun. I can just imagine the costumes."

The black silk of the smock rustled as she gently rubbed her stomach. "Well, imagine trying to squeeze into one when you're six and a half months pregnant."

Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement as she met Olivia's eyes in the mirror. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, pinning her dark hair up. "What did you do?"

"Picked the only costume with a high waist and the fullest skirt I could find." She smiled, recalling the hours she had spent with the dressmaker as she suffered through bi-weekly fittings. "But it's lovely."

"All of your costumes are," Katherine gushed, dropping the twist and brushing it out as she started again. "Are you sure you want it up?"

"Absolutely." She smiled bashfully and looked up. "My husband bought a necklace for me to wear and-"

The hairdresser held up her hand, shaking her head. "Say no more. An updo it is. We're going to make sure that nothing takes away from that glorious necklace."

She looked up slowly, fingering the base of her throat where the necklace would rest. The wide mirror in front of her was a window into the rest of the salon outside of the private room. A voice drifted through partially open door, soft and husky. She was Alice down the rabbit hole, leaning forward in the chair as a figure stepped into view.

The hairdresser's idle chatter fell on deaf ears as she locked eyes with the woman outside the door. The breath caught in her throat and she gripped the arm of the chair as her head spun. She saw Cashlin in double, hazy at the end of a tunnel of shadows. She sat frozen, immobile against the ire sweeping over her.

Katherine looked down, noticing the way her client's face contorted in the mirror's reflection. She touched her shoulder, her eyes frowning when she felt the tremble beneath her hand. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Richards?"

Cashlin's eyebrow was a fine arch, almost a dare as her mouth curled to a smirk. She turned away from the door and moved on, leaving discord in her wake. That was the nature of a hurricane. It could develop without warning, leaving little time to prepare or even to save yourself. You were reduced to the sidelines, watching as it blazed a trail of destruction through your life.

She shook her head, closing her eyes as she exhaled deeply. "Just a nightmare that won't let me be," she murmured, resting her head in her hand.

The only thing that sustained you was the hope that there would be something left.

* * *

"When was the last time you saw Nancy?" Harris watched the woman shrug as she blew her nose into a tissue.

"Be- before Christmas," Ruth sniffed, dropping the tissue into the wastebasket. She sighed, pressing her palms to her flushed cheeks. "She was looking forward to going back to Canada and seeing her family."

She nodded, tapping the pen against her notebook. "Did you know why she resigned?" The secretary watched her carefully, tilting her head as she squeezed her hands together. "It's alright," Harris assured her, dropping her voice. "You can tell me."

"It's just-," she hedged, sinking lower in the armchair, "awkward. I work for Mr. Richards now. If he-"

"It can stay between us." She forced a comforting smile and waited as Ruth nodded slowly.

"She didn't like working here anymore." She leaned closer to the detective, her voice a hushed whisper in the morning quiet. "She didn't like working for Mr. Richards."

"Did she ever?"

"I'm not sure."

Harris watch the woman twist her hands, spinning and pulling at the simple ring on her finger. Her eyes flickered behind the thick lens of her glasses, darting from her lap to the detective's face. "You and Nancy were good friends though?"

"As good of friends as two co-workers can be." She sat straighter, pushing the glasses back up her nose as she cleared her throat. "This was just a paycheck for Nancy, not a career. Working for Mr. Richards, or any of the partners, is serious work." She shrugged, brushing her hair behind her ear as she continued, "She wanted to be an actress."

The tip of the pen scratched across the lined paper and Harris nodded. "So Mr. Richards was the reason she resigned?"

"He can be difficult," Ruth admitted in a whisper. "He's easy to criticize. Nancy was very sensitive."

"So," Harris concluded softly after the secretary lapsed into silence, "you're a better fit for Mr. Richards?"

The ghost of a smile danced on Ruth's lips and she shook her head. "No. I don't think anyone is. How his wife puts up with him, I'll never know." She crossed her legs, covering the round peak of her knee. "But, I've been a secretary for nearly six years. I know what it takes to get the job done."

"What's going on?"

Ruth jumped up, wrapping her sweater around her waist as she faced Gregory. "Mr. Richards, this is-"

"Detective Jeannie Harris." She stood, flipping her badge open as his gaze turned to her. "I was just interviewing Ms. Runyon."

He nodded as Ruth announced in a shaking voice: "Nancy is dead!"

Gregory glanced from his distraught secretary to the quiet detective. "When?" he asked softly.

"Her landlady discovered her yesterday." She watched as Ruth wiped her eyes and reached for a fresh tissue. "May I speak with you?"

He gestured to his office and followed the detective inside. "What happened to her?"

"She was found murdered in her apartment." Gregory cleared his throat and sat in the chair behind his desk. "We believe she may have interrupted a robbery."

"I'm not sure how I can help then."

Harris sat in the chair across from the desk, watching him closely. "You never know," she said simply. "Were you surprised that she resigned? According to Ms. Runyon, she had worked for you for a number of years."

"Somewhat. She hadn't mentioned she was unhappy here."

"Would she feel comfortable enough to do that?"

Gregory tilted his head as he sat back in the plush leather chair. "If not to me, then at the very least to Human Resources."

She nodded. "Had she spoke of anything or anyone that had been bothering her as of late?"

"I'm sorry, no."

"Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt her?"

He shook his head. "No. As I said Officer-"

"Detective."

His face shifted, gliding seamlessly from detached calm to amusement. He cleared his throat and smirked as he cocked his head in deference. "_Detective_," he stressed, sitting up, "Nancy may have worked for me for over three years, but I knew very little about her. I'm sorry to hear of her death, but I couldn't even tell you where she was from or where she lived."

She pursed her lips and said, "I see. And when was the last time you saw Nancy?"

"On the last day she worked here," he replied curtly, popping the locks on his briefcase. "I wasn't planning on a full day, so if there's nothing else…"

She nodded, standing fluidly as she reached for her pocket. "I understand. If you think of anything…" she trailed off, passing him a card.

He took the card and glanced at it briefly before he set it aside. "I will call immediately," he promised as he reached for the ringing phone.

Harris turned, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the polished wood floor. Her hand brushed the doorknob, the metal cool against her flesh. "Woodbridge, Mr. Richards," she said pointedly, her voice ringing in the office.

Gregory looked up from the phone, frowning. "Detective?"

She turned, gazing at him for a long moment through narrowed eyes. "Nancy was from Woodbridge, Ontario." Wrenching open the door, she strode out of the office, her long dreadlocks swinging across her back. The reception area was empty, though a steaming mug of coffee promised that Ruth would return. She propped another card against the ceramic mug and turned into the hall, bumping into Morales. "Anything?"

He shook his head, glancing down at his notebook. "Spoke with a Helena Sporos who says the departed was quiet and dependable." He held up a piece of paper encased in a plastic bag and dangled it temptingly before Harris. "Resignation letter."

"Interesting," she murmured, reading the letter through the plastic as she followed Morales to the bank of elevators.

"Not really," he retorted, stabbing the down button. "This is an open-and-shut case, Harris. Robbery gone bad." The elevator pinged and the doors rolled open. "End story."

"Maybe." She stepped into the elevator after him and leaned against the wall.

"Harris," he groaned, recognizing the thinly veiled reluctance in her response. "Come on. It's New Year's Eve."

She glanced quickly at him, passing him the letter. "Her former boss was…distant."

"So was everybody else in this damn building." He made a half-hearted kick at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "Just a bunch of uptight lawyers who think twice before they tell you the weather report."

She looked up, watching the red numbers descend until the elevator ground to a stop. "Maybe," she repeated, pulling a pair of dark glasses from her jacket and plunking them on her face. "Then again, maybe not."

* * *

Gregory slid his arms into the dress coat and pulled it around him. He frowned, smoothing the brown satin as he looked at his reflection. "I look ridiculous," he muttered, fingering the ruffled shirt beneath his waistcoat. He kicked out his heels, the buckle of the period shoes catching the light.

Olivia glanced over her shoulder, a small smile lighting up her face. "No, you don't." She turned back to the vanity, leaning forward as she brushed mascara onto her eyelashes. "You look very dashing."

"Dashing…and ridiculous," he insisted, tossing the tricorn hat to the bed. His hands rested lightly on her bare shoulders as she sat up, twisting the cap on the tube of eye makeup. She reached for the atomizer, spritzing the perfume onto her flesh. He knew what came next. They slipped quietly into their routine, fitting into it like a snug glove.

The boxes were on the dressing table, the jewels inside polished until they sparkled. The necklace was heavy in his hand as he placed it around her neck. Her eyes turned up, a smattering of gold sparkle dust around them as the diamonds molded around her throat. "There," he said softly, rubbing her shoulders as he met her bright eyes in the mirror.

"Perfect," she whispered, standing fluidly as she turned to face him. The brocade silk skirt whistled as she stepped closer to him. "Thank you."

He watched her quietly, his hands grasping hers. Her hands were warm, their fingers entwining as she looked back at him. He raised their hands, his lips brushing the back of her fingers. "You're stunning," he whispered, kissing her knuckle as he reached for the bracelet. He cupped her wrist, holding it delicately as he clipped the intricate bracelet around it. He cupped her shoulders as he drew her in as close as her stomach would allow. "You're magnificent," he murmured, bringing a smile to her face. "You're exquisite."

She smoothed his dress coat, meeting his eyes bashfully. "You're making me blush," she admitted softly, resting her hands against his chest.

He grinned, his dark eyes shining with amused pride. "Am I?" She nodded and he pressed against her, his breath tickling her ear. His lips danced against her ear and she shivered as he whispered, "Good."

Her blue eyes sparkled, rivaling the diamonds around her throat and wrist as he turned for her coat. She held out her arms obediently as he stepped behind her, guiding her arms. "Shall we?" he asked, extending his arm.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. He watched her root through the drawer for a long moment until she turned back. She held out a small box and glanced at it pointedly. "I could wait for New Year's Eve," she explained, twisting his words from several days ago.

He smirked, obliging her mystery as he took the box and opened it. A thick band of gold enfolded the square diamond center. He looked up at her as she turned it up, angling the inside of the band to the light. "Can you see?" she asked softly.

He nodded slowly, reading the inscription. "All my love, New Year's Eve 1980." He looked up as she slid the ring onto his pinky finger. A warm feeling bubbled in his chest when she smiled up at him, her hand sliding into his.

"Because you're not the only one who gets to give gifts," she said softly, answering the question running through his head. She closed her eyes as his arms went around her, hugging her close. Her chin touched his shoulder and she breathed deep, taking in the rich scent of his cologne. She sighed as his hand ran down the length of her back, her flesh tingling beneath the silk bodice. Her eyes opened slowly as she turned, placing a soft kiss on his neck.

"I love you very much," he whispered simply.

The ghost of a smile danced on her lips as she curled against him. "I know," she replied, peeking up at him. She cupped his face, her heart warming as he turned into her touch. The afternoon encounter faded from her memory as he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. It was _her_ hand he held, _her_ eyes he gazed into. "I love you too, darling. _Always_."


	22. For Times Gone By

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 22: "For Times Gone By"

The mask is snug around my face, glowing in the moonlight as I dart across the fairway. The silver mist of fog and the dark of night are my shadows, eager vessels to my cause. A light breeze carries the sounds of the party to me, luring me closer. The ruby silk of my dress rustles as I smooth the fabric, looking up the staircase that led to the balcony of the grand ballroom.

Swelling music fills the night and I close my eyes as my mind drifts away. Romance sings in my heart as I imagine the gentle rock of the gondola. His hand envelops mine as the gondolier's serenade washes over us. I shiver, nuzzling against him as his arm goes around me.

"Happy New Year," I whisper, climbing the staircase.

The start of something new.

* * *

"I was starting to think you were mad at me."

Olivia glanced over sharply, her eyebrow arched. "Why would you think that?"

Bette shrugged, her eyes dark over the top of the wineglass. "I haven't seen you in weeks, not since that day we went shopping." She watched her friend looked away, her eyes turning to the floor. "You didn't return any of my calls. What was I supposed to think?"

She sighed, lowering the ornate mask. "It wasn't like that," she replied softly, her voice falling away to a whisper.

"Could've fooled me," she muttered, returning a half-hearted wave to someone across the room.

"I'm sorry." She took Bette's hand and squeezed it gently. "Really," she insisted when her friend just looked away. "If you only knew…"

"You know, Toots," she sighed, interrupting the tepid explanation and glancing back. "It's really hard to be your friend when you don't let me in."

Her blue eyes fell, lingering on the crème and gold silk of her skirt. "I _am_ sorry."

She waved her hand dismissively, her red hair fiery beneath the canopy of twinkling lights in the ballroom. "Stop now," she murmured, touching Olivia's shoulder, "before you get yourself worked up. I know how you are."

Olivia leaned against her, her arms enveloping her into a tight squeeze. "I want to tell you everything, but not tonight." She looked up, her blue eyes bright. "I want to start the new year right." She smiled reassuringly as Bette's questioning eyes watched her. "I need that."

* * *

"Greg!"

Gregory turned as the deep voice boomed across the ballroom, rising over the strains of the music. He watched as Del strode through the crowd, sidestepping the overzealous masked people. "Happy New Year!" he exclaimed.

"Well, well," he said, shaking Del's hand. "The vagabond oilman returns for a visit."

"Visit? Hell no, friend. I am moving back- _permanently_." He nodded, plucking a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. "Yes sir, the wagon train says into the west we shall go. Westward ho!"

"Is that right?"

Del shrugged, taking a long swig of champagne. "Texas only has so much oil, so come the new year, I'm leaving Houston behind and coming home to the beach."

"And California has so much?"

"Of course it does."

They turned to the voice, that cool and slick voice that penetrated their conversation like the slyest of snakes. "Well, hey, Robert," Del said, clasping the man's shoulder. "I made it!"

Robert Mitchum walked over to them, appraising them the way he would an objet d'art on the auction block. "So I see," he murmured, affording Gregory a cordial nod. "Good to see you, Gregory."

"Robert." The one word was a palpable chord between them, pregnant with every ounce of Gregory's dislike for the man. A sentiment he was quite sure that Robert could match for him.

"Robert and I are going into business together," Del explained. He leaned into Gregory, shades of discretion oozing from the hushed tone he took. "It's going to be _huge_. You should come in with us."

"We could welcome another investor," Robert said, forcing the offer across his lips.

"Doing what?"

Robert turned and coaxed the two to follow. They pushed through the crowd and stood before the expanse of the floor to ceiling windows. Fog was descending, turning the spotlights that looked onto the golf course into glowing orbs. He raised his arm, the ice cubes clinking against the sides of his glass. "Out there."

"Oil, Greg! All the crude oil we can get our hands on!"

He looked into the darkness and past the golf course. The waters of the Pacific were a quiet giant tonight. From a distance, she looked almost tame. "Offshore drilling?"

"Hell yes! And it's going to make us a mint."

Robert heard the skepticism in his question and let Del's enthusiasm pass. "It's the future," he said softly, glancing at Gregory. "Our reports show that the well of crude oil may well be limitless."

"Nothing is limitless," he replied, imagining the new face of the pristine beach. Oil platforms would dot the not-so-distant horizon, a blight on the unparalleled beauty of the coastline. "The Santa Barbara spill wasn't so long ago."

"A lot changes in ten years," Robert said simply. "Who could ensure more safety precautions than us? We're drilling in our own backyards- in the very ocean our children play in."

Gregory chuckled, shaking his head. "They're going to come out of the trees for this, you know that don't you?"

"Let them. We've got the economy on our side."

"And is Alex?"

Robert's face turned as he tilted his head and raised his glass his mouth. "My wife," he began, glaring into the night, "is photographing the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. She and my son won't be back for another three weeks."

"She's not going to like this."

"She's going to have to deal with it."

Del nodded. "This is going to be a win-win situation for everyone." He chuckled slyly and grinned. "With the biggest win, of course, in our bank accounts. There's still time for you to join Liberty."

"Liberty?"

Del grinned and crossed his arms proudly. "The Liberty Corporation- our venture group."

"He took particular inspiration from the founders," Robert explained.

" 'Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness'," Del recited, raising his glass in the air. "We want it all."

"How ingenious," Gregory muttered into the well of his glass.

"So, what do you say, Greg? You with us?"

He looked at the pair of them, his face unreadable. "I'll think it over. Call my secretary next week and we'll set something up." He began to leave, but turned back with a smirk coloring his face. "Naturally, I could be nothing less than a full partner."

Robert's eyes darkened and his mouth screwed, his hand tightening around the crystal tumbler. "Naturally," he hissed as Gregory left, chuckling under his breath.

* * *

Cashlin turned from the bar, her hand molded around the glass. The crowd around the bar was sparse, running thin as strains from the ball reached them. She looked in the direction of the festive music and the roar of laughter, her face wrinkling. Gulping hard, the vodka was smooth down her throat. "Another," she growled at the bartender, throwing her empty glass down.

She glared out at the party, her stomach churning. Look at them, she thought as she narrowed her eyes. Dancing and flitting about without a care in the world. "Bastards," she muttered.

Their eyes had turned on her when she first walked in. The once revered Cashlin Russell was ignored, shunned into obscurity. They turned on her, pretending not to see her as she made her way through the ballroom. Conversation abruptly ended when she approached and continued in whispers behind cupped hands when she left. "Hypocrites."

As if their lives were so perfect.

She chuckled, reaching for her replenished drink. "See that man?" she asked the bartender, leaning against the bar. "He lost all of his money on a bad land deal. His wife is fucking his former partner."

With a giggle, she squeezed the lime garnish into the vodka. "And that couple over there? Their son likes to set fires." The vodka sparkled in the light, drawing her in deeper. "Remember that fire at the library last May?"

The bartender shook his head, wiping down the counter. "I don't know anything about that."

"I do," she sang, slurping down her drink. "I know _plenty_."

* * *

Olivia leaned against the railing as a gentle breeze stirred the hem of her gown. She looked into the night, barely able to make out the lit gazebo through the fog. With a sigh, she rubbed her stomach. "I know it's your first party," she said under her breath, wincing at a particularly sharp jab, "but you must show some decorum, Baby Richards. Though to be honest, I think you're going to be charming, just like your father."

She chuckled to herself as she looked down. "That would be the way, wouldn't it?" she murmured, turning her eyes up. Shadows danced in the mist, moving seamlessly through the night. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands. "You'll have his way with people, the ability to make the world bend to your favor."

The ball was behind her, dulling to a quiet roar as she closed her eyes. She breathed in deep, taking in the faint traces of the salty air. "And you'll have his brilliance. His wit." Her eyes opened slowly as a phantom chill slithered across her flesh. "His strength," she whispered.

A pair of arms went around her, hugging her close. "And what of you?" Gregory asked, his breath a sigh against her ear.

She shrugged, letting his arms envelop her. "I don't know," she admitted softly.

His tongue clicked, a teasing sound that coaxed a small smile from her. "I think you do." His lips brushed her ear, nuzzling the fragrant skin of her neck. "Baby Richards will have your compassion. Your endless love of life." His voice fell to a whisper as his hands dropped to her stomach. "Your strength."

She swallowed hard as his hands rubbed her stomach through the silk. A wave rippled through her chest and a sigh graced her lips as she covered his hands. "Are you sure that you're not confusing pride with strength?"

"No," he said quietly, clasping her hand as his chest pressed against her back. "You've always been strong." She shrugged, gazing into the fog as he continued, "You're fearless."

She stepped out of his embrace and turned to him. Quiet discord washed across her face, materializing in the way her throat worked. Her head shook gently as her eyes softened to bottomless blue pools. "That's a nice sentiment, but I'm not." She turned back to the night, leaning against the wrought iron railing. "I never was."

He stood next to her and reached out, covering her hand with his own. "It's not sentiment," he replied softly. "Just truth." The night was still, peaceful even. He sighed, the quiet opening a rare window. "Truth is all I have left."

She sighed and squeezed his hand. With painstaking slowness, she inched closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. His arm went around her as his chest rose and fell deeply. She closed her eyes as his lips graced her forehead. "Even if that's all you have left," she whispered, "that's all I want."

* * *

The band grew louder and the crowd more enthusiastic as the clock neared midnight. Gregory passed Olivia a glass of sparkling water and a small smile as she stood chatting with Bette. She met his eyes for the briefest of moments, returning the smile. "My parents called from Tahoe before we left," she explained, sipping the cool beverage. "They love the cabin."

"They love it? _I_ love your cabin," Bette gushed. She glanced over at her husband and cocked her head in his direction. "I've been trying to talk Johnny into buying a place up there for months."

John Davis grimaced and turned to Gregory. "She hounds me daily about it. I'm thinking of giving in."

The redhead grinned triumphantly and leaned over kiss her husband. "Now, isn't that easier?" She patted his cheek and winked. "We should make a weekend of it," she said to the group as John's arm slipped around her waist. "The four of us will go up, relax a bit and see some places."

"Sounds like fun!" Del boomed, placing his hands on Olivia's shoulders. She jumped in surprise as he placed a loud kiss on her cheek. "Make room for a fifth."

Bette shook her head as Del draped an arm around each woman. "You'll be too busy getting Annie settled with the move."

"Bah," he insisted, turning to Olivia. "Kids adapt." He looked her up and down, a wide grin on his face. "Darlin', have I mentioned you look _lovely_ tonight?"

She smiled quietly and stepped away from him. "Thank you," she said softly, reaching for Gregory's hand. She squeezed it gently and moved closer to him.

From the stage, the music ended to appreciative applause and the band left the stage for a break. "Not too long until midnight," John announced, glancing down at his watch. "Less than an hour."

Gregory's arm went around her as looked down. "Do you still feel up to staying through the fireworks?"

She nodded and leaned against him as he hugged her close. "Then we can go. I think I can make it until then." She winced as she slipped her swollen foot from her shoe, flexing it to her heart's content beneath her full skirt. "Hopefully."

He rubbed her arm and held her closer as a drum roll skirted around the room. The crowd turned to the stage in waves as the cymbals crashed together. Olivia gasped as Cashlin Russell danced across the stage, waving her half-empty glass in the air. A hush fell over the crowd, waiting with bated breath as she giggled into the microphone.

Gregory's arm tightened around his wife as Cashlin's laughter bounced around them, tormenting them in stereo. "Happy New Year!" she slurred, hiccupping loudly. "From me…to _you_!"

A low murmur rippled across the ballroom, the crowd confused as Cashlin cackled like a hyena on the stage. "To you," she continued, taking a large swallow of her drink, "the two faced bastards that you are." Her expression melted to a sneer as she stumbled upright. "How dare you judge me? Bastards! How dare you ignore me!"

Her eyes moved over the crowd, hatred burning in them as she threw her glass to the floor. It shattered with a pop, causing those nearest to ground zero to shriek. "Don't look at me!" she hissed, glaring at the shocked expressions she found. "Take your pity and shove it! I'll be back- and better than ever!"

She rocked back on her feet, suddenly dizzy as the room spun and her vision swam. "In another month," she slurred, gripping the microphone stand, "you'll all be back to kissing my ass. Pucker up!"

Her vision cleared and for a brief shining moment, she locked eyes with the force that caused her temporary downfall. "And there he is!" she hissed, raising her arm and extending an accusatory finger. "You're next, Gregory!"

Gregory stiffened, his jaw clenched as Olivia leaned against his chest. Her face flushed a deep red as those around them turned and stared at them. A heavy weight descended over the couple as Cashlin's hysterics rang out. "You think you can just have your way with me time and time again," she shrieked, her eyes blazing, "and still win?" She looked down at the crowd and nodded grandly. "Oh yes! There he stands- Saint Gregory and his precious wife."

Olivia's throat constricted as Cashlin continued, speaking conspiratorially to those closest to her, "Would you like to know how he fucked me raw?" She chuckled, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "In his office, on his desk, the elevator…anywhere he could get me."

Gregory's chest throbbed as Olivia spun away from him, pushing through the crowd. "Wait," Cashlin giggled, her voice omnipotent through the microphone. "Stay…don't you want to know how I made him pant my name?"

Bette brushed past him, glaring as she followed Olivia out of the ballroom. His heart roared in his chest, straining against rib cage. Angry dots danced in his vision as his fists cracked into undecipherable balls. His glare hissed across the room, deadly in the charged atmosphere.

From the side of the stage came the maitre d' of the country club. He rushed across the stage, reaching for the microphone as Cashlin chuckled into it, "And after all that, he tried to kill me. Not once, but twice!" She shook her head as the maitre d' snatched the microphone from her. "Hey! That's mine!"

The crowd watched in quiet disbelief as they fought for control. She stumbled, falling to the ground as a pair of men hurried over. They yanked her up and began dragging her off the stage. "Let go, you bastards!"

Gregory flinched when Del touched his arm. "Let's go, Greg," he said, pulling his arm. Cashlin's rants faded to a distant disturbance as a shrill whine emitted from the discarded microphone. He followed Del, vaguely aware of the way the crowd parted as they passed. Suspicious eyes refused to meet his as insistent chatter sprang up after them.

The hall was cool as they came out of the ballroom, the gilded doors slamming shut behind them. The thick carpet below their feet swallowed their steps as they walked into the large foyer. Bette sat next to Olivia on one of the overstuffed sofas, rubbing her back. He ignored her accusing eyes as he watched his wife on the sofa, rocking herself. The corner of her lip was clenched in the unforgiving grip of her teeth as she stared vacantly into space. He sighed, straining to loosen his tense fist. "Olivia," he said softly, extending his hand. "We're leaving."

She stood abruptly, ignoring his hand as she stalked out of the country club. He turned to follow when Bette grabbed his arm. "Here," she snapped, shoving Olivia's diamond necklace into his hand. "She ripped it off her neck. She felt like she couldn't breathe." She pursed her lips, shaking her head. "Goddamn you, Gregory. Goddamn you."

* * *

I look down at my hands. Angry red crescent marks dot my palms, reminders of my fury. Ice coursed through my veins, as if that could fan the flames of my anger. My costume is now heavy, the silk suffocating as I throw my mask to the ground. It snaps beneath my feet as I stomp, taking out my ire on it.

In a matter of moments, the black and red mask is reduced to fragmented pieces. Bits of mask cling to my skirt, caught in the lace hem. I shriek out of frustration as my fists slam into my abdomen.

The world was spinning out of control and I was losing my grasp.

* * *

The sitter jumped as the front door slammed open. "Mr. and Mrs. Richards," she exclaimed, standing as they walked into the house. "You're back early. It's not even midnight."

Gregory closed the door quietly, sighing as Olivia stormed through the living room. He and the teenage sitter watched as she flung open the glass doors that led to the patio and stepped out of the house. She turned to him, her mouth gaping as he opened his dress coat. "Is Mrs. Richards alright?"

He turned and looked out the doors. The fog was thickening, an impenetrable wall of silver. Glancing back at the sitter, he nodded slowly and reached into the pocket of his coat. The silver billfold was smooth in his hand as he opened it and counted out several bills. "She's just tired," he murmured, distractedly passing her the money.

The girl nodded, pocketing the bills as she reached for her purse. "I'll be going then."

Gregory didn't turn as the teenager passed him, nor when the front door closed behind her. He went to the bar, pouring a generous splash of scotch into his glass. He collapsed into the club chair, sighing heavily. He stared at the open patio door, the fog slithering into the house. He couldn't even see Olivia. She was probably happy about that, he thought to himself. She hadn't uttered a word to him since before Cashlin's tirade began.

He rubbed his eyes, leaning back in the armchair. A low voice chuckled in his ear and he froze, gripping the glass. _What did I tell you, boy? You ruin everything you touch._

He sipped the scotch, his eyes narrowing to slits. _You were always too cocky- thinking that you could get away with everything. You've got your mother to blame for that. She was always too easy on you.So, it was left to me to knock you down a peg or two. And I did, didn't I boy? For all the good it did._

A phantom belt snapped and his mouth tightened. _You never learned though. Never learned. Maybe I didn't get it all out of you._

His head went back, inhaling the remaining scotch. It burned its way down his throat as he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. Warmth bubbled in his chest, quickly drowned out by simmering fury. It slithered up from the recess of his soul, painting his world with a thick black brush.

From the shadows of the ceiling came a face, feral in the darkness. They bloomed, coming together for a brief moment. Cashlin Russell looked down at him, her eyes burning as she glared. Her mouth curled into an unholy smirk, dancing across her face as she watched him. Mocking him. Humiliating him.

He stood, setting the glass on the coffee table. Olivia was still outside, swallowed up by the thick fog. He reached for his car keys, until now discarded on the ledge of the half wall. A menacing chuckled echoed in his ears, mingling with the remembered sound of Cashlin's shrieking. And Olivia. The way she pulled away from him, her eyes lowered in shame.

* * *

The grass crunches beneath my feet, crisp on the eve of the new year. I inhale deeply, drawing the scent of roses into my ravaged lungs. It does little, I realize as I kick off my shoes and step bare foot onto the patio. The fog is a curtain around me and I muddle through it, painfully slow.

I walk around the patio furniture and down three shallow steps to the pool level. It's illuminated, glowing softly. The surface ripples in the light breeze, begetting a dancing light that plays on the shadows of the fog. I stand still, watching the light show when I hear a soft cough.

I whirl around, poised for fight. The mist is a filmy veil and I push through it, following the sound. Near the edge of the pool, the fog lifts and I see her. Her back is to me, unaware.

Like a phantasm, I creep towards her. My footsteps are silent on the patio, drawing me closer. I dance around her, seeing her but never touching. She is muttering under her breath, ignorant of the force that lurks just behind her.

Thumping music finishes the backdrop, generously donated from the raucous party her neighbors are throwing. I'm surprised no one has complained. They could wake the dead. I chuckle under my breath as my hand wraps around the handle of the dagger.

She whirls about, her hair whipping around her head. "Who's there?"

I draw the fog around me as she moves, searching the little of the patio she can see. My breathing is soft, barely spiking as she brushes past me, the hems of our gowns touching. She is blind and I am all seeing, all knowing. The leather handle eagerly receives my grip, molding to fit.

I'm a breath away from her, close enough to hear the way she breathes heavily. Her perfume hangs in the night and I pause. We're back at the edge of the pool and the diamonds at her ear catch on the light. A dark sensation twists low in my stomach, rising in my throat as I raise my arm. There's a brief moment of quiet, glittering peace before I lunge.

The blade sinks into her, piercing the flesh of her back and she screams. She wrenches and I rip the knife back, stabbing again with aim for the shoulder. Her tortured howl is swallowed by the fog and devoured by the pulsating bass from next door. The blade flies silver, drawn to her flesh like moth to flame.

She sinks to her knees, her arm raised in defense. Her palm is sliced and I step hard on the train of her gown, locking her in. She curls, unable to hide from the determination of the dagger. I grunt, skin tears and she moans.

I press into her as she goes limp, destroying the flesh that his hands roamed and his lips teased. The blade comes faster, the silk hanging off her in tatters. With a final burst, I hurl the dagger into her abdomen, twisting hard. Her eyes widen and she tenses for a fleeting moment.

I grab her chin, forcing her to look up. I smirk as she coughs, her chest shaking weakly. I squeeze her face, blood staining her flesh as my fingers rub against her. The light of life is fading fast and I watch as her lips curl, her breath going faint. "Ruth," she asks, her voice shallow, "w- why?"

I lower my face to her, gently brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. "He's mine," I whisper as her last breath spasms against my cheek. "He was _always_ mine."

I pull my hand back as I stand. Her blood stains my hand and I wipe it across the face of my costume. With a shattering inhalation, I push her body into the pool. She slides beneath the surface with nary a splash, falling and twisting through the lit water like a perverse angel falling from grace. Red puffs bloom and discolor the crystal blue, her body weeping ribbons of life.

A loud whistle disturbs the silence and from overhead, a large crack. Glittering color fills the sky, breaking through the fog to light the night. I look up, the eruptions of pink, orange and green reflected in my eyes. They explode in the sky, bright starbursts that freeze for a moment as the strains of singing reach me.

The fireworks and singing ooze of celebration, the close of one year and the start of another. "For auld lang syne," I sing softly, turning from the pool. My feet pad across the patio as I smooth my dress down. "We'll take a cup of kindness yet." I chuckle, stepping into my shoes and walking back through the grass. "For auld lang syne."


	23. It Starts Now

**NOTE: This chapter is ****RATED ADULT ****for sexual content.**

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 23: "It Starts Now"

Gregory braced his arms on the wall, letting the powerful showerhead rain down on him. The forceful waterfall kneaded his back, working through the taut muscles. Puffs of steam billowed around him, rivaling the fog from the previous night.

He looked up slowly, glaring at the water droplets that clung to the wall. They ran down the tile, rolling down to the ground where they were sucked into the swirling vortex of the drain. He closed his eyes, letting the misty steam envelope him in a blanket of solitude. Solitude. He shook his head, reaching out and turning off the water with a purpose. Solitude was the last thing he needed.

The glass door swung open, a puff of steam preceding him as he stepped out of the shower. Water ran off his body in determined streams as he reached for the towel. He patted his face dry, sighing into the lush Japanese cotton.

"Where were you all night?"

He lowered the towel, running it down his bare wet chest. Olivia's eyes met his, the blue narrowed as she tapped her foot impatiently. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she waited, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "Well?" she asked, ice dripping over the heart of her question.

"Driving," he admitted, wrapping the towel around his waist as he walked around her.

She scoffed, whirling on him as he stood in front of the mirror. "For hours?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he replied softly, slicking his hair back. He leaned against the marble counter, his head lowered. "I needed to clear my head."

"Clear _your_ head?" Her hip rested against the counter, a fragile dam at the fury brimming beneath the surface. "I'm so glad for you," she spat out, pushing away as she turned to leave.

He spun around, reaching out and holding her close. His damp chest pressed into her back, rubbing against the fine silk of her robe. "Don't," he whispered, cupping her shoulders and sliding his hands down to her arms.

Her face contorted as she sighed angrily. "Don't what?" she asked as his arms traversed the length of her arms, ringing around her wrists. His fingers wound through hers, parting the angry fists she made. His breath was a sigh against her bare neck and her eyes fell as he pressed his face into her dark hair.

"Last night," he began in a whisper and she winced, a gentle spasm against him. He frowned, drawing her closer against him as he squeezed her hands. "Don't-"

"Last night," she hissed, stepping out of his embrace as she turned to him, "was…_mortifying_." Her eyes were a smoldering blue, a counterpoint to the flush creeping up her neck to her face. "That _woman_," she growled through clenched teeth, "made a fool of me in front of the entire bloody country club! She humiliated _both_ of us!"

Her words shook, full of every ounce of anger coursing through her veins. She gestured wildly, her hands trembling with rage. "And how she laughed," she recalled as her eyes narrowed. Her fingers curled, imagining how it would feel to wrap them around Cashlin's neck and squeezing until life left her.

Gregory reached out, touching his wife's hand gently. Her eyes flew to him as he began to pull her close as he whispered, "She'll be handled."

"Handled? Handled!" She chuckled, absurd laughter bubbling out of her mouth as she raised her hands to her face. Her shoulders shook as angry tears burned her eyes. "How are you going to handle something like that?"

He sighed. "I will," he insisted as she peered through the gaps between her fingers. "Liv-"

The breath rushed out of her lungs in one fell swoop. She shook her head sadly as her eyes widened. "What?" she asked softly. "What more can you possibly say?"

A reply died on his lips as he watched her watching him. Her chest heaved, slowing to a gentle rhythm. A spark within him died as chains of distrust wrapped around him. Three weeks ago, she wouldn't have asked that of him. _She couldn't have_, a bitter voice whispered. Her faith in him, that unfailing faith, was gone and scattered by the wind to the four corners of the Earth. She watched him suspiciously now, her eyes filled with distrust as she waited for him to speak. A hideous cackle filled the tense silence as Bruce's voice mocked him. _Go on, boy…say something. Say something real good._

His eyes softened as she sighed and turned away. "I'm going back to bed," she murmured, the strain of her voice eerily mournful. The train of her nightgown and robe hissed around the door jamb, waving at him as she left the bathroom.

Gregory stood in the center of the room, beneath the skylight. The steam was dissipating, swirling up to the high ceiling, revealing a sky that was growing lighter with each passing second. His breath was like pins in his throat, painful as he turned slowly. A pit of disgust turned in his stomach and it was a brief moment before he followed her.

She was already back in the bed and pulling the sheets over when he stepped into the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, not speaking as he watched her. She sighed as she manipulated the pillows to her liking. Her eyes widened when she looked up and saw him watching her. "What is it?" she asked softly, smoothing the sheet over her stomach.

He moved to the foot of the bed, leaning against the cushioned chaise as he watched her. His gaze was steady and unrelenting, primarily focused on her and she shifted uncomfortably. "Gregory, you're staring."

"You used to like when I stared at you," he said softly.

She frowned and slid further into the silky embrace of the bed sheets. "I don't have time for this."

"But, I do." His gaze hardened as she looked away. "I have all the time in the world."

She turned back slowly to him without saying a word. His flesh tingled as her eyes flickered over him, moving over the bare skin of his chest. She sat up, pushing herself up with a sigh of exertion. The thin strap of her nightgown slipped from her shoulder, leaving her flesh bare. She brushed her hair behind her ear and peeked up at him. "What do you want from me?" she asked in a whisper.

Breath ran shallow in his throat as he stood frozen next to the lounge. "What I want," he trailed off as he turned his eyes back to her. "I want you to tell me what to do." She looked up slow, her face blank as he continued, "Tell me what you want me to do to fix this."

Olivia's face melted and she moved back in the bed, away from him. "You can't change the past, Gregory." He watched her lean against the headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest. "You can't change that you had an affair. You can't change that I found out. You can't," she gasped, squeezing the pillow tighter, "change what she said last night."

She flung the pillow to the ground and threw the covers off her. She slid to the edge of the bed and pushed herself up, glaring. "You can't change anything. You can't do anything to make me forget all that I know." Her hands covered her face and she sighed shakily, lowering them after a long moment. "I wish I could forget," she admitted softly. "I wish I could forget you ever said _her_ name."

The sickly feeling of guilt swept through him, as easily as it was to breathe. His fingers trembled as she covered her face with her hands again and turned back to the bed. He reached for her without thinking, drawing her to him as he lowered her hands. Her eyes shone with the glimmer of unshed tears as his thumbs rode across her cheeks. He cupped her face, her flesh warm as his hands slipped down to her jaw. "Olivia," he whispered, gazing steadfast into her sad eyes.

She began to look down and he gently nudged her face back up. He leaned close, inhaling the scent of her as his lips met her neck. He heard her breath catch as his mouth teased the sweet spot of her neck. She stiffened against him as he traced the strap of her nightgown and slipped it from her shoulder. "Gregory," she mumbled as his hands drifted from her bare shoulders to her full breasts, "I'm not-"

"Olivia."

She looked up as he cupped her chin and lowered his head, his brown eyes flashing. His lips pressed against hers, parting them gently as his tongue probed the warmth of her mouth. She sighed against his lips, surrendering to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their tongues danced hungrily as his hands pushed her nightgown away, lavishing her aching breasts with attention. He caresses them slowly, following the curve of the underside as she dug her fingers into his back.

Her nails raced fire across his bare back as she gripped him closer. A soft groan echoed low in her throat as he teased her breasts with skillful hands. Warmth bloomed and coursed throughout her body as he tore his lips away from her. She panted for air, her lips bruised and red as he gasped, "Olivia."

She grabbed his face, urgently bringing him back to her. It was her name he panted, her he reached for as her nightgown fell from her body. Her teeth sank into his lip and he hissed, tasting blood. A bolt of satisfaction shot through her as she gripped him closer. His hands roved the expanse of her blare flesh as her palms imprinted into his back. She gasped when his hands moved lower and she licked her lips in anticipation. Her thundering heartbeat filled her ears and her chest grew tight as he devoured her mouth. His finger became a flicker, tracing it's way down between her thighs with a feather touch.

"Olivia."

Her name was a low growl on his lips as she pressed her hands into his waist. The towel pooled around his feet as her hand warmed him. He found her mouth again, drawn to it hungrily as their naked flesh pressed together. They moved to the bed in one fluid movement, sharing the breath in their lungs. The mattress sank and the bed creaked, a sound that ripped through the fevered quiet.

Her hand moved against him, teasing him to the point of no return as she leaned against him. The firmness of her stomach pressed against him as his leg slid between hers. Her mouth kissed a path down his chest, not bearing to be parted from the flesh she was drawn to like a magnet. His tongue darted out, claiming a rivulet of perspiration that rolled down from her hairline for himself. She reached for his face, forcing him to look into her eyes. They were dark, smoldering with the passion burning within her. "Stop teasing me," she murmured and a wave of heat rocked his belly.

He rolled beneath her obligingly as she straddled his waist, her hair hanging down. She shook above him, gripping his shoulders as she moved her hips slightly. His eyes glinted and she smirked, lowering her hands to his chest. His fingers dug into her hips insistently before reaching around to cup her rear. She moved above him with a determined steadiness as his lips formed the first syllable of her name.

Her head rolled back and a moan filled her chest as he dug his fingers into her behind, pulling her deeper. Her hips rolled onward and heat blazed between them. She tightened her legs, meriting a groan that comes from the very heart of him. She closes her eyes and surrendered herself to the electricity running through her.

Their hips ground together as he thrust deep, claiming every part of her that she is willing to cede. Her cry and his ragged breathing become the bedroom vernacular, filling the early morning silence. She trembled above him and he reached for her, drawing her as close as her stomach would allow. Her mouth met his and he swallowed her cry as a flaming pulse erupted within her. Tears burned at her eyes as he arched into her one last time. She fell against him, weeping for air as his arms enveloped her.

He raised a shaky arm, running it through her damp hair. Her cheek rested against his shoulder and her faint breath baptized his skin. Her arm stretched across his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. He reached up, his hand filling the emptiness of hers. "Olivia," he whispered as a serene fog clouded his mind.

She looked up slowly, her blue eyes heavy as she sighed in reply, "Hmm?"

He shook his head, gently cupping her cheek. "No. Just…Olivia."

* * *

The shrill whine of the siren cut through the morning as the sun rose slow in the sky. It echoed in the sleepy town, ominous as it met with the sound of squealing tires. The dark sedan caught up to the convoy that sped down the quiet residential street. The sirens came together in a graceful cacophony, pulsating with urgency as they reached a fevered pitch of unity.

Inside the sedan, Harris leaned back in the seat, pinching the bridge of her nose. She groaned and Morales glanced over from the driver's seat. "You ok?"

She closed her eyes, hiding behind the dark lens of her sunglasses. "Headache," she said simply, pressing her fingertips into her temples.

He chuckled, reaching for the thermos of water and holding it out. "Here. There's a bottle of aspirin in the glove compartment."

She took it gratefully, popping several pills into her mouth along with a generous gulp of water. Her head rested against the window until she realized the window was vibrating with the siren. "Happy New Year," she muttered, bracing the dash as Morales took a sharp right. "You ever think we'll be able to go one holiday without working?"

He shook his head as the line of screaming cars flew through a stop sign. "Nope."

The parade of police issued vehicles came to a stop, blocking the drive and part of the street. Harris sighed and pushed open the door. "At least it's consistent," she said as she climbed out of the car. Flashing light burned at her already sensitive eyes and she looked down at the ground. "What's the story again?"

Morales came around the front, leaning on the hood next to her. "Neighbors saw something floating in the pool. First on scene," he continued, flipping open his notebook as he read the notes he jotted down, "found the mutilated remains of a woman."

Her stomach turned and she sucked in her breath. "And we're here because…"

"Detectives."

Harris glanced up, recognizing the powerful voice of her boss. Chief Raymond Briscoe strode purposefully towards them, his hand extended. "Chief," she said as his large hand enveloped hers.

"I know this isn't the way either of you wanted to spend New Year's Day," he said, shaking Morales's hand. "But I asked for you both."

Asked for both of them, but looked at Harris as he said it. She squared her shoulders and reluctantly lowered her sunglasses, blinking rapidly in the early morning sunlight. "Yes, sir."

"I want you- both- to be the leads. Harris, you've got the experience and Morales, you know the men. You'll have a full team under you."

They nodded seriously as Chief Briscoe continued, "This kind of case…it's unusual for this area." He glanced behind him, at the house standing majestically behind the yellow police tape. "It's not pretty in there," he continued, turning back to them, "but I know that you can handle it."

"Thank you, sir. We can." Harris glanced to Morales and he nodded, pride dancing in his dark eyes.

"Good." He looked at them closely for a long moment. "Don't disappoint me."

He turned away, joining a contingent of men that were walking down the street. A small crowd was forming, anxious neighbors craning their necks to see past the barricade of cars. Morales punched her arm affectionately as she leaned back against the hood of the car. "See Harris, all those psychology classes of yours paid off!"

She nodded slowly and turned to him. "I just wish I wasn't so hungover. I should be appreciating this more."

"There's time for that later," he said, hitting the hood of the car.

Harris's smile fell as she looked closer into the interior of the car. "What the…"

"What?" Morales turned, watching as she went to car and opened the back door. "What's wrong?"

"This," she said, peering into the backseat. Two pairs of wide eyes looked back at her and she shook her head. "Stowaways."

He peeked over her shoulder as she backed out of the car, grasping a hand in each of hers. A chuckle bubbled up in his throat and he hid his mouth behind his hand as Harris crouched in front of the boys.

"Ricardo Torres, what are you doing here?"

"We came to see the crime scene!" the eleven year old replied. "Me and Tonio."

Harris watched as the smaller boy hid behind his older brother, his large brown eyes filled with tears. "You shouldn't have done that," she said sternly. The boy looked down as his younger brother sniffled behind him. "This is no place for either of you."

"But I wanted to see," Ricardo said, his voice an insistent whine as he peeked up. "I want to be a policeman!"

"And what did I tell you the last time?"

He sighed, kicking the ground with the toe of his sneaker. "Do good in school, stay out of trouble and when I'm older, I can go to the academy."

Harris nodded at her young neighbors and stood up, looking around. "Now, your mother is probably worried sick about you both." She waved a patrol cop over and gestured at the brothers. "Can you drive them home?"

She walked them to the black and white, reciting the address to the cop as he slid behind the wheel. Ricardo jumped into the backseat, asking for sirens to be on as they were driven home when Antonio tugged on her arm. She looked down as the six year old whispered tearfully, "It was Ricardo's idea."

She patted his head and strapped him into the back. "It's ok. You go home and have some breakfast."

Morales began to chuckle as the car rolled away with Ricardo peering out the back window. "Your neighborhood fan club strikes yet again."

She rolled her eyes as she walked up the driveway and into the house. "I try not to encourage him," she replied, taking in the white living room. "But they're over my house all the time playing with my step-kids when they're in town."

Her eyes moved around the room, skimming over the white leather sofas and white marble floor. "This woman didn't have kids," she concluded, turning back to Morales. "No woman with small children would have this much white."

Morales nodded as Harris stood in front of the fireplace. "But she had a husband," he piped up as they looked at the large photo of a bride and groom on the mantle.

"Let's find out where he is," she said as they walked out to the patio. The crowd parted in a wave as they came down the shallow set of steps to the pool. A black body bag was stretched out on the stone, zipped tight. She pressed her lips together, crouching down as she lowered the zipper and pushed the bag open.

The still body of the bride from the photograph lay before her. Harris opened the bag more as Morales kneeled next to her, breathing hard. Angry wounds covered the body, the torn flesh tinged blue. "Doc?" she asked, looking up.

The medical examiner stepped forward, shading his eyes. "Initial findings suggest cause of death to be multiple stab wounds."

She nodded, the zipper humming as she closed the bag. "Who is she?" she asked as she stood.

"Cashlin Russell," one of the investigators called out. "House is registered to her and a neighbor was able to identify the remains."

"Which neighbor?" she asked, glancing to the neighboring houses. He pointed to the house to the left and then to a pair of nervous teenagers.

She began to walk in their direction when the medical examiner asked, "Detective?" He gestured to the black bag and she nodded. She watched for a moment as the bag was hoisted to a gurney and rolled up the patio.

When she turned back to the teenagers, she saw that Morales had gotten to them first. "So, how did you find the body, Brian?" he asked.

Harris watched as the boy ran a hand through his shoulder length curls. "It's not like we went looking for Mrs. Russell or anything, dude," he replied. He shrugged, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend's waist. "We were on the top balcony sharing a join- cigarette." He glanced at his girlfriend and she nodded quickly, her eyes wide. "We could see over the trees and Shelley said she saw something weird in the pool."

She stepped closer, watching as Brian's eyes flickered to the pool and he shivered. "That's when we noticed the color of the water."

Shelley whimpered and leaned against her boyfriend. "It was red," she murmured as Brian rubbed her arm.

Harris cleared her throat as Morales nodded. "The night before," she asked as Shelley began to cry, "did either of you hear anything? See anything?"

Brian shook his head. "No way, dude. I- uh- invited some people over for a little get together." He shrugged and avoided the suspicious eyes of the police officers. "Things got a little festive and-"

"We get the picture," Harris interrupted as she turned to her partner. "They don't know anything," she said softly.

Morales nodded his agreement and turned back to the teenage couple. "Go on over and speak to that officer," he said, gesturing with his chin. "He's going to take your official statement."

They were turning away when Brian reached out, grabbing Harris's shoulder. "Hey, dude? You're not going to tell my dad about the party, are you? He'd totally flip if he knew I had people over while he was out of town."

Morales bit back a chuckle as Harris sighed sympathetically and said, "Bummer, _dude_."

They walked back to the pool, staring down into the cloudy red water. "His dad is the least of his problems," he said as the roar of a helicopter drowned him out. They looked up, shading their eyes as a news helicopter hovered over the property. The palm frond blew vertical, whipped straight by the gusts emanating from the blades.

Harris rolled her eyes and gestured for Morales to follow her back into the house. "It starts now!" she shouted as they walked quickly across the patio.

* * *

Olivia smiled as she walked into the kitchen, inhaling the scent of cinnamon. "What's that smell?" she asked softly as she neared the stove.

Caitlin spun around and threw her arms around her mother. "Me and Daddy made breakfast!" she exclaimed, dancing around her mother.

"Well, it smells delicious," she insisted, peeking into the frying pan where several slices of French toast sizzled. She wrapped her arm around Gregory's waist and leaned against him as he flipped the bread. Her hair had dried in waves around her bare shoulders and he smiled, fingering one of the loose curls.

He grinned at her, cupping her face as he drew her close for a soft kiss. She smiled bashfully as his hand followed the curve of her back to rest on her hip. "Good morning," she whispered in his ear.

"Morning," he replied softly. She touched his face gently, tracing the rise of his cheeks with her fingertip as he smiled. She lowered her eyes and turned away from the hot stove, reluctantly releasing his hand.

Caitlin kneeled on her seat at the table, slurping orange juice through a straw. "It was my idea to make breakfast," she told Olivia. "Daddy only helped a little."

Olivia smiled, drawing the flowing skirt of her dress beneath her as she sat at the table. She looked up slowly, her daughter's cheerful giggle drowned out by the utterance of the name she had grown to loathe. She hushed her daughter, hugging her close as she focused on the small television that sat on the counter. Her lips parted and she gasped as the news anchor grimly reported the details of the first murder of the new year.

Gregory came from behind, setting the plate piled high with French toast on the table. Grainy footage showed an aerial view of Cashlin's patio, dozens of police officers milling around. His hand found Olivia's shoulder and she turned slowly to him.

"That woman," she said softly, holding Caitlin to her breast and covering her ears, "was a cancer." Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to the small television. "I'm not sorry she's dead."


	24. Doubt

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 24: "Doubt"

"We're very sorry for your loss, Mr. Russell."

Harris watched as Jack Russell stood and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He shuffled across the worn linoleum floor to the small kitchen window. Outside, a shaft of afternoon sun fell through the trees, staining the small pool with golden light. He leaned against the wall, his forehead touching the warm glass. With a quick breath, she plunged head first into the deep end and asked, "When was the last time you saw your wife?"

A pained sigh filled the silence and even Harris couldn't help but wince at the anguish threaded through every syllable. "December 15th," he replied slowly. His eyes followed the breeze outside, watching the way the frond danced in the invisible embrace. Everything seemed slowed, moving with a seemingly false abundance. The color shown deeply, glowing in the warm sun. It was all a gross mockery of life that stood in stark contrast to the death that clouded the tiny living room. "Cashlin left early that morning for Sacramento. She went there for business."

Harris and Morales glanced at each other, sharing a long look. His eyes glimmered and he sat back with a conceding nod. "And when she came home?" she asked.

"I wasn't there." His statement hung uncomfortably, pregnant with its simplicity. He turned to Harris, meeting her eyes. "I wasn't _there_."

She watched as he slumped against the wall, dejected. After a long moment, she cleared her throat and tapped the point of her pen against the lined paper of her pad. His guilt would get them nowhere. "Where were you last night?"

His eyes turned up, once hollow eyes that hardened defensively. "You think I did it? Me?" he asked incredulously as he looked from one detective to the other.

"We have to ask," Harris answered softly as Jack sighed angrily.

"I was at Sailor Ray's until last call." He crossed his arms and glared at the detectives. "A dozen people saw me."

"We'll need their names," Morales piped up, earning a furious glare from Jack.

"I didn't kill my wife," he insisted, his hands curling into tense fists.

"You understand why we have to ask." Harris watched as Jack leaned against the counter, angrily kicking the wood cupboard with his foot. "Your wife threw you out and now-"

Jack chuckled, running his hand through his thick hair. "Cashlin didn't throw me out. I left _her_." His rueful laugh segued into a tired sigh as he turned to the detectives. "I left her," he explained in a wounded whisper.

"Why?" Harris hushed her partner when Jack looked away, his fist cracking as he tightened it. She leaned back in the cushy armchair, fingering her ear lobe. "Mr. Russell, we'll find out."

In a tortured whisper, the truth rose in Jack's throat like a geyser. "She was seeing someone." He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut to hide from the hideous reality consuming him. "Another man." His finger strained against the band of gold around his ring finger.

Cashlin's laughter echoed from the valley of his memory and he winced. Once upon a time, he had made her laugh. His fingertips would trail her stomach, her ticklish flesh quivering beneath. Her eyes would light up as she dissolved into giggles, writhing beneath him. And years ago, in an Idaho meadow, she had stood still long enough for him to cup her face and kiss her. It was dusk then and his skin tingled as he remembered the way the fading sunlight caught on the creek and a sunset painted the sky.

"She always had been," he spat out, shaking off the sweet remembrance of yesterday. Cashlin was dead. It didn't matter anymore. None of it. He looked up, meeting Harris's dark eyes. "They worked together."

* * *

"I came over as soon as I heard."

"And a happy New Year to you," Olivia said, stepping aside as her friend barreled through the front door.

"Yes, yes. You as well. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You did see the news this morning, didn't you?" Bette touched Olivia's arm, her eyes full of concern. "Are you really _fine_?"

Olivia turned away slowly, cringing at the skepticism woven through the question. Yes, she _was_ fine. She believed it with every fiber of her being. It would take time, but everything could be wonderful again. "I am," she whispered under her breath as she sank down to the sofa.

"Well, what happened?"

She looked up, her blue eyes clouding in a frown. "What do you mean?"

Bette perched herself on the edge of the coffee table and leaned forward. "Livy, after what happened last night at the ball," she began, her voice dropping when Olivia looked away, "and now this…"

"Bette," she whispered, reaching out to cover her hand, "stop. Everything is fine." She smiled reassuringly and patted her hand.

She pulled her hand back, her green eyes narrowed to fiery slits. "We do watch the same newscast in the morning, right?" Olivia groaned and she plunged headfirst into her next sentence. "How can you say everything is fine, _especially_ after last night?"

Challenging eyes looked up slowly, meeting Bette's. "What are you talking about?"

"That woman! That horrible, horrible woman stood in front of us all and announced to the world that Gregory tried to kill her! Twice!"

Olivia's face turned, wrinkling horribly as looked at her friend. "How can you even-"

"Oh, Olivia- please! I know Gregory…and I know _you_!" Her heart raced and her words came faster, tumbling out of her mouth in an undecipherable heap. "You'd defend him until Judgment Day and the sound of trumpets."

"Bette-"

"And she's dead! Dead, Olivia!" Olivia crossed her arms defiantly as she continued spitefully, "Third times the charm, eh?"

"Gregory had nothing to do with that!" Olivia growled, her agitation crystallizing and growing in intensity. "That woman-"

"Slept with your husband and now she's dead!"

"Why do you keep reminding me of that?"

"Why are you so willing to forget!"

"Because I have to!" Olivia shrieked. Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled in a grand sigh, her eyes filling. Raking sobs bloomed and it was a painful effort to swallow them back. "Nothing will be better until I do."

Bette's eyes widened as she watched her friend, wringing her hands anxiously. A wave of disgust rippled over her and she frowned. "Oh, Olivia. How can you be so stupid?"

She looked up sharply, her mouth tightening. "I beg your pardon?"

The red head through her hands away, rolling her eyes. "You know, what's the point? You'll never learn," Bette snapped.

"This from the woman who bulldozed her way through three marriages?" Her green eyes crackled and her mouth set, drawing to a firm line that claimed her lips as Olivia continued harshly, "Stop trying to make the rest of us as miserable as _you_!"

She shook her head sadly, watching as Olivia pushed herself up and spun away from her. "Listen up, Toots. Me and my three marriages know that forgetting doesn't help. I tried to tell you that a few months ago, but you wouldn't listen. Like you won't listen now."

Olivia whipped around, her hair flying and eyes blazing. "I will not stand here and listen to you accuse my husband of-" She stopped abruptly, breathing heavily as she opened and closed her mouth several times.

"You can't even say it, can you?" Blue eyes glared at her as she stood, disinterestedly smoothing a wrinkle from pant leg. She sighed and reached for Olivia's hand, squeezing it only once before it was ripped away. "For your sake, Olivia, I hope you're right. I truly do. But I know Gregory's temper and last night was the angriest I have ever seen him." Olivia looked away and she said softly, "You know I'm right."

"You're wrong," Olivia whispered, looking out through the glass doors to the patio. Down the stone steps, where Gregory splashed in the pool with Caitlin. She closed her eyes, listening closely until she heard the faint echo of their daughter's laugh. It was carefree and brimmed with the warm feeling of safety. She basked in it for a long moment as she gripped the arm of the sofa. "Gregory had nothing to do with what happened last night. _Nothing_."

Bette sighed pointedly and Olivia flinched in response. "I don't want to fight with you," she said softly.

"Really?" Olivia scoffed, narrowing her eyes.

"Just…be sure." Their eyes met and Bette looked deep into the blue, the gateway to Olivia's soul. "Please."

"I am." Olivia turned away first, moving quickly across the room to the glass doors. "I'm quite sure you can let yourself out," she said, stepping out onto the patio.

The door closed firmly behind her, the glass vibrating to a low hum as Olivia disappeared down the shallow steps. Bette sighed heavily, turning slowly in a circle. The room seemed vast in her lonesome, reminding her of the drafty old cathedral her mother was laid to rest in. Yet, the air crackled with anger, a heavy stench that caused her to wrinkle her nostrils as she gasped for a deep breath. "Oh, Livy. I hope to God _you're_ sure."

* * *

Gregory looked up as Olivia floated down the stairs, the skirt of her flowing dress billowing around her like a cloud. The warm sunlight kissed the bare skin of her shoulders, glowing softly on the alabaster flesh. "Are you alright?" he asked as she stole into the long shadow of the umbrella.

"Fine."

He frowned as she settled on the lounge, leaning back into the warm cushion. The water rippled around him, crystal blue in the sun. He rested against the ledge, water dripping to the stone beneath as Caitlin wrapped her little arms around his waist. "You were in the house for quite awhile."

She shrugged, stretching her legs until her feet broke free of the shadows and basked in the light. "Bette stopped by," she said, clipping her hair up.

Caitlin scrambled up his back as he sank into the water, locking her hands beneath his chin. "Pull me, Daddy," she whined, straining against his neck as she rocked back.

"Just a minute, Princess." He unwound her arms, surrendering his daughter to her inflatable turtle. She grabbed hold of it, splashing around in the shallow end of the pool as he climbed onto the patio. Water ran off him in streams as he stood in front of her, slicking back his hair. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, folding her arms against her chest.

He reached for a towel, pressing his face into the dry softness as he said, "You're upset."

She forced a small smile to her lips as he draped the towel around his neck. "I'm not," she insisted, reaching for his hand. She moved her legs and pulled him down to her level, clasping his hand in both of hers. Her head swam and she struggled through the murky thoughts as she met his eyes. He smiled patiently and her chest tightened as her stomach flipped. "Darling," she began softly, rubbing the top of his hand, "where were you last night?"

Gregory's hand flinched within hers as the indulgent smile fell from his lips. "I already told you."

She sighed, threading her fingers through his. "All night?" His hand snapped back, leaving her with a momentary void. "Darling-"

"Are we going to do this again?"

"Gregory-"

"Driving. The coast highway. Until dawn." He stood up, staring down intently at his wide-eyed wife. "Same answer as this morning. Satisfied?"

"Please, don't be mad."

"Don't be mad? Don't be mad!" He inhaled sharply, throwing his arm out to her. "What the hell happened in there?" She looked away, her eyes dancing away from his as he continued, "We were fine this morning."

"Were we?"

"Damnit, Olivia!" He dropped to the chair, his hand resting on her thigh. "Is this what it's going to be like for the next fifty years? You constantly doubting everything I say?"

"I'd say I was entitled," she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose. The first waves of a headache licked from behind her eyeballs, snaking around to compress her temples. She peeked through her fingers and watched Gregory's jaw tighten. With a sigh, she reached out and covered his hand, squeezing it. "Don't confuse doubt with reassurance."

He looked up slowly, his eyes dark. "You never needed it before."

Olivia's mouth curled into a sad smile as she watched him. "Things aren't the way they used to be."

He sighed and looked away. "I'm beginning to wonder if they ever will be again."

* * *

Harris climbed out of the passenger side of the vehicle, shading her eyes as she looked up. The oceanfront mansion loomed before her, rising above the tops of the grand palm trees. She cocked her head as Morales came around the front of the car to stand next to her. "Welcome to Millionaire Row," he said simply.

"No place like it in the world," she sighed.

"Yeah, but you're from New York. You know, 5th Avenue? Park Avenue?"

She shook her head as they began the long walk up the cobblestone driveway. "It's a different kind of rich. New Yorkers hide it away behind their doormen and the tinted windows of their chauffeured cars." She glanced over her shoulder and threw him a wide grin. "It's the first rule of East Coast class. You never let on how much you actually have. But here," she explained, gesturing widely at the landscaped yard and the polished foreign cars sitting in the driveway, "it's all on display. Like a contest."

He chuckled, reaching out to press the doorbell. "That's exactly it, Harris. So Cal isn't just a way of life. It's a goddamn rat race."

"Gentleman, start your engine's," she muttered as the bell chimed from behind the door.

"So, this guy again?" He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "You talked to him the last time? What do you think?"

"He's cool, that's for sure. Real calm."

"Yeah, but first his secretary, now his mistress?" Morales whistled under his breath and shook his head. "Funny coincidence, don't you think?"

Harris' eyes flashed as a shadow passed behind the frosted glass inlay of the door. "In our line of work, we don't believe in coincidences."

The detectives turned as the door swung open, the faint strains of melancholy jazz drifting onto the portico. "Mrs. Richards?" Harris asked as a woman stepped into view. Olivia nodded, looking from Harris to Morales and back as they offered their respective introductions.

"We're sorry to bother you," Morales said, "but we'd like to speak with your husband."

"And you," Harris interrupted, watching Olivia closely.

Olivia cleared her throat, leaning against the door as she asked, "Regarding?"

The two women locked eyes as Harris replied, "The death of Cashlin Russell."


	25. Nearest to Heaven

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 25: "Nearest to Heaven"

Harris crossed her arms and stared through the glass. Her eyes narrowed, a slight glint hardening the chocolate brown irises. There was a sharp intake of breath as she met Gregory's gaze, begetting a crackle of energy that passed between them. The harsh light from overhead shone bright, revealing every menacing crack of Gregory's glare. His eyes pierced hers with such an intensity that she momentarily forgot the window was two-way.

Behind her, Morales cleared his throat and announced, "Their lawyer arrived."

Her eyebrow arched as she leaned against the glass, meeting Gregory's dare. "One lawyer for both of them?" she asked softly, searching his face for any measure of the calm she found on their first meeting.

"No, the lawyer is for him, but I think he's just a time delay." Harris turned around as Morales continued, "I'll throw down my overtime that our cool customer is going to represent himself and then his wife."

There was a flash of white teeth as she smirked and looked over her shoulder. "Who didn't see that coming?"

They chuckled as Gregory turned away from the mirror, leaning over the table. He bowed his head reverently as if he stood before a gilded altar. "Do you think it was wise bringing them down?" Morales asked.

"Definitely." She cocked her head, watching Gregory as he looked up slowly and turned back to the mirror. "Let's just see if we can rattle him a bit."

Morales moved next to her, sighing heavily as they looked into the interrogation room. "Well, we've got his pregnant wife in A and him in B. The old divide-and-conquer. It shouldn't take long."

"We'll see."

* * *

Olivia looked up as the door opened slowly and Harris stepped into the room. She turned away, folding her hands on the surface of the table as the detective took the seat across from her. "Your lawyer just arrived," Harris said as she opened a file and looked down. "He'll be along in just a moment and then we'll get started."

"With what?" Olivia hissed. "I have _nothing_ to say."

Her angry words hung in the silence and Harris closed the case file slowly. "It really shouldn't take more than a few minutes and then we can get you home. I understand you have a little girl." That got her attention. Olivia's blue eyes flickered to Harris as she bit the corner of her lip. "I'm sure you're anxious to get back to her."

She nodded, shifting on the uncomfortable plastic chair. When she looked away again, Harris stood and walked around the table. "I am sorry," she began, leaning against the wall with her arms against her chest, "that we had to bring you down for this." Olivia stiffened and watched her out the corner of her eye. "I know it's not the most pleasant of places, especially for a woman in your condition."

"No, it's not."

Harris smirked, drawing her into conversation. The gentle approach always worked like a charm. "Is there anything you need while we wait? A glass of water maybe?" Olivia shook her head and Harris stepped closer. "To be honest, we're just wasting time now." She pulled the chair around and sat directly next to Olivia, their knees touching as she leaned in. "You answer my questions and you're all done."

Olivia turned, a reply dancing on her lips as she fidgeted. It was there, Harris saw. Right on the tip of her tongue. But a fine chain held her back, restraining her cooperation like an unruly child. "My partner, Detective Morales, is in with your husband right now." The blue eyes flashed hopefully and Harris went in for the kill. "We'll be done with him shortly and then you can both go home to your daughter."

She smiled, patience masking her triumph as Olivia turned to her. "What do you need to know?"

"Are you sure you don't want to wait for your attorney? You are entitled…" Olivia shook her head and Harris glanced at the mirror, nodding quickly to the people behind it. Verbal consent was all they needed.

"Get on with it," Olivia sighed.

She smiled, patience masking her triumph as she said, "You've been here long enough, so I'm just going to get right to the point."

"Please do."

"Did you know that your husband was having an affair with Cashlin Russell?" Harris watched the other woman stiffen and heard the sharp intake of breath. "Mrs. Richards?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"When did you find out?"

"A week or so before Christmas."

Harris couldn't help but wince as Olivia's shoulders slumped. She sat quietly for a moment, wondering how it would feel to learn that Donald had been unfaithful. A shiver swept through her and she glanced down at the simple gold band on her left hand, not able to comprehend that level of betrayal. "Did the news come as a surprise?"

The dark head lifted slowly as if manipulated by fine strings. As she turned, Harris found herself looking up for the master that controlled his puppet. "No," she snapped, glaring at the detective, "it was more like a bloody shock."

She nodded, changing courses as a rush of blood flushed in Olivia's neck. "What was your husband's relationship with Nancy McCarthy?"

"His secretary?" Olivia asked slowly as confusion rippled across her face.

Harris nodded. "Did their relationship go beyond the bounds of professionalism?"

She sucked in her breath and her head went back as if she had been struck. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"_Quite_," she replied coldly.

She sat back, crossing one leg over the other as she began, "Mrs. Richards, you and your husband were guests at the masquerade ball last night. I understand that Mrs. Russell put on quite a show at your expense. You must have been quite upset, not to mention-"

A numb feeling swept through Olivia as she listened vaguely to the detective. The horror of last night was revived and brought back to the present as a sick feeling rose in her throat. "Wouldn't you be?" she whispered.

"You and your husband left the ball before midnight. Where did you go?"

"Home."

"And after that?"

"Nowhere."

"You and your husband went home and stayed home?"

Fury burned in Olivia's eyes as she looked up quickly. "Yes."

"All night?"

"_Yes_."

Harris nodded, pursing her lips as she tapped her fingers on the table. "Mrs. Richards, have you heard of obstruction of justice?" She watched as Olivia met her eyes, locking gazes for a long moment. "I'm sure that as the wife of a criminal defense attorney, it's something you're at least a _little_ familiar with."

"I'm not a lawyer."

"And I'm not a film studies professor, but I'm sure I can go into great detail about Hitchcock's use of the McGuffin." She paused for a breath as Olivia squared her shoulders defiantly. "When did we become so well-versed in the business of our husbands?"

"I assume," Olivia began after a long moment, "that your question is rhetorical."

Harris' brain screamed insistently as she sat back, nodding slowly. She was too confident, too defiant. "Mrs. Richards, the penal code is clear on matters of obstruction of justice." She waited until she had her attention, until the cloak of defiance fell from her. "Impeding our investigation by providing a false alibi is extremely serious. If we find out that you are lying about your husband's whereabouts last night, you are facing a 50,000 fine and jail time."

"Jail?" Olivia scoffed, the tremor in her hand belying the armor of impenetrable defense as her head swam. She breathed deep and fanned herself with her hand as she shifted under the hot light.

"Yes, Mrs. Richards, _jail_. Up to five years." She plunged ahead as Olivia's shoulders collapsed and her head hung, loose waves of dark chestnut falling in her face. "You'll serve time for obstruction of justice as your husband faces murder charges. And even though they're from a considerably higher tax bracket than other children in the same situation, your daughter and unborn child will go to foster care. As convicted felons, the State may not be so willing to agree to visitation." Harris leaned close as Olivia exhaled sharply and her confidence of earlier dissipated in an unruly puff of smoke. "You will _lose_ your children. So, I'm going to ask you again, Mrs. Richards, was your husband home all night?"

"Yes," she whispered weakly as she broke out in a cold sweat and a high-pitched ring filled her ears. She swallowed hard, choking back the bile that rose in her throat as her skin crawled to no end.

"Mrs. Richards?" Harris asked as Olivia paled quickly, the color draining from her face like sand in an hourglass. She jumped up, the chair clattering behind her as she pounded quickly on the two-way mirror. She ran to the door and flung it open, shouting into the hall, "I need a medic!"

Footsteps thundered down the hall as she dashed back to Olivia, catching her as she slid out of the chair. Her legs hit the floor with a sickening thud as Harris cradled her in her arms. "Mrs. Richards!" she shouted, smacking her cheek lightly. "Olivia!"

A uniformed officer hurried into the room with a large case and skidded to the floor. "Bus is on the way. What happened?"

A block of ice settled in Harris' stomach as she answered, "I was questioning her and she passed out." She cupped Olivia's head in her lap, watching as the officer held a capsule beneath her nose and broke it. It was another several seconds before Olivia coughed violently and she opened her eyes, flooding Harris with relief.

The officer turned around, facing the small crowd that congregated in the doorway of Interrogation Room A. "Give us some air- and someone bring water!"

Harris leaned down, struggling for words as she whispered in Olivia's ear, "Lie still, Mrs. Richards." Glassy blue eyes looked up at her, struggling to blink. "You're going to be alright."

Olivia's hand brushed against Harris' and she gripped her thumb weakly. "Gregory," she murmured, wincing as her vision came into focus and the overhead light burned her eyes.

"I'll get him," she promised as a bellow echoed from the hallway.

"_WHERE IS MY WIFE_?"

The crowd at the door parted like the Red Sea and Harris' head flew up as Gregory burst into the room. She moved aside as he dropped to the floor, reaching for his wife. "Olivia?" he asked, cupping her face as she looked up slowly. "Liv?"

"Gre-"

He hushed her, scooping her into his arms as he held her close. "Don't move." He ran his hand over her head and down the length of her arm.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut as the room spun. "Really."

Gregory looked down at his wife with a smile of such tenderness that it killed Harris' breath dead in her throat. It was a brief moment, frozen in time that ended a beat later when he looked up at her and growled, "What happened?"

Harris opened her mouth, scrambling for a reply as Olivia moaned softly. "Dizzy," she whispered as she shivered within Gregory's arms.

The detective stood, rubbing her palms anxiously against her thighs. With a quickness that could be confused with nervousness, she backed away from the couple on the floor. The corner of the room became her sanctuary as Morales appeared at her side. "Jeez, Harris. I thought you were just going to rattle him a bit?"

* * *

My hand fluttered to the phone, skipping over the buttons as I held the handset to my ear. The droning ring echoes endlessly and I close my eyes, gasping in excitement. "Finally," I whisper.

She thought she could replace me. She thought she could be me. _Both_ of them did.

Cashlin learned the hard way. So would she.

I stand quickly, moving across the room to the bottle of scotch. His favorite. My hand lovingly caresses the neck of the bottle as the phone continues to ring.

No one came close to matching the level of affection we shared. He was mine and I was his.

Forever.

The ringing came to an abrupt end and the breath caught in my throat as a woman said, "Hello?"

I slam the phone down quickly, the handset colliding with the receiver in a pitiful clatter. It wasn't him.

He wasn't there.

* * *

Gregory clasped Olivia's hand and leaned forward as Dr. Robinson lowered his stethoscope. "Well," he asked, "how are we feeling, Mrs. Richards?"

"Tired," she admitted with a small gasp.

A frown wrinkled across the doctor's face as he watched her carefully. "Are you having trouble breathing?"

She shook her head as Gregory tightened his hand around hers. "I just can't catch my breath."

Dr. Robinson nodded thoughtfully as he beckoned the nurse over. They turned away, whispering unintelligibly as Olivia looked to Gregory. He lifted her hand, pressing it gently to his lips. With a heavy sigh, he rested his hand on the crest of her stomach and looked deep into her eyes. Exhaustion clouded them, nearly drowning the fear that swam in the blue depths. And it was him she looked at, him she turned to. A thought entered his mind and he looked up suddenly. "Do you remember that time we drove up the coast?"

She shrugged, sighing heavily as she said, "What about it?"

He inched closer, hooking his arm through hers as he squeezed her hand gently. "It was such a beautiful day you insisted I take the top down." Her hand twitched within his and he patted it comfortingly. "The warm sun, the wind rushing through your hair, the scent of the sea…you said it was the nearest to heaven you had ever been."

She nodded gently, losing herself to his soothing whisper. "Yes," she murmured as a whimsical smile danced on her lips.

"We stopped along the way, at that old Spanish mission and-"

"The flowers," she interrupted with a small gasp. He watched her with a small smile as she closed her eyes dreamily. "The field of flowers."

Memories flickered like an old film, flashing in the darkness behind her eyes. The sun held the meadow in a golden embrace, the flowers dancing in the breeze beneath her outstretched hand. His palms against her back and his eyes, promising forever as she cupped his face. The distant sound of church bells from the mission as he held her close, their lips pressed together in a symphony of flora.

"That day…," she sighed, breathing deep. Yesterday echoed with an abundance of peace and she recaptured it, holding it close. Her face softened to a glow, a streak of warmth in the cold hospital room.

He covered her hand with both of his, a protective embrace as Dr. Robinson cleared his throat. They looked up as the doctor returned to the opposite side of the bed. "Mrs. Richards," he said simply, "I'd like to place you on bed rest for the next ten days." The doctor watched their faces, complacency giving way to uncertainty. "You'll be confined to your bed for the entire time; under no circumstances do I want you up."

"But-" Olivia began.

"Mrs. Richards," he interrupted, "your blood pressure is simply too high. You have entered the range where it is now a threat to your pregnancy." He watched her carefully, his eyes lowering. "Given your history, I feel that this is the best course of action and in ten days, we'll have a follow-up exam. Hopefully, by then, things will have changed."

A tense silence filled the room and Gregory cleared his throat, looking up at the doctor. "Is there a medication-"

"There is, but I'd prefer to use it as a last resort. Let's see how these next ten days go." Dr. Robinson smiled down at Olivia, who sat quietly in the bed. "You are under strict orders to take it easy."

Gregory stood as the doctor turned to leave, willing life back to his heavy legs. "I'll be right back," he whispered to Olivia, following the doctor out of the room. "Doctor?"

Dr. Robinson turned, nodding to the nurse who stepped away. "Mr. Richards?"

They stepped into a corner, drawing seclusion around them with their hushed voices. "High blood pressure?" he asked. "That's all?"

"For now." The simple statement throbbed between them, shuddering with all that remained unsaid. "We can still get her blood pressure back under control."

"And if you can't?"

His mouth set and he shook his head. "We will cross that bridge when, and _if_, we come to it."

Gregory's hands went deep into his pockets with a frustrated sigh. He looked away, guilt rising in his throat. "Have you seen the news today?"

The doctor nodded, following Gregory down the dark corridor of reality. "You'll need to keep all of that away from her," he advised quietly. "No matter what, Mr. Richards."

* * *

Olivia leaned back, sinking into the mountain of pillows. "Ten days," she muttered beneath her breath as Gregory drew the covers over her.

"It'll be over before you know it."

Her eyes closed as he turned off the lights and climbed in next to her. "I suppose." She glanced over as he beat the pillow into submission. "What did you and Dr. Robinson talk about?"

He rolled to his side, watching her carefully. "You. About how to get your blood pressure down."

She nodded, curling against him as his arm went around her. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and she fought against heavy eyes as she listened to his breathing. "I shouldn't have spoken to the detective without you."

He gripped her closer, hushing her softly. "I'll deal with that in the morning."

Swallowing hard, she whispered, "I told her that you were home all night."

He met her eyes and shadows howled from the corners of the room as he asked slowly, "You _what_?"

She frowned against the strain in his question and squeezed his hand. "I was trying to protect-"

"Liv, you lied to the police." She fidgeted against him and he exhaled deeply, his mind racing. "Why would you do that?"

Her hand slipped from his as her eyes narrowed. "Because you're not a murderer," she sighed, as if it was the simplest quintet in the world. Her lips parted as she gasped and she turned her eyes to the expanse of the ceiling. "And at the moment, I'm probably the only person in town who believes that."

An uncomfortable pressure settled on his chest as he watched her breathing heavily. The tears in her eyes caught the moonlight and his own throat tightened. Thought died and reason left him as the enormity of her actions sunk in. She lied. She lied for _him_. "Liv-" he began, struggling to force the syllable from his mouth.

"How much trouble will I be in if they find out?" she asked softly.

He reached out tentatively, wrapping his arm around her as he drew her close. "They won't," he whispered in her ear, closing his eyes. "I promise you, they won't."

Her breath shook her whole body as she brushed a tear from her cheek. "Don't promise me."

"They won't find out," he insisted. "They've got no evidence of anything."

His strong declarations washed over her, waiting for the comfort that usually followed. It didn't come, leaving her with a painfully hollow feeling. As a newfound void opened within her, she turned her face away and murmured, "I hope not."


	26. Chinatown

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 26: "Chinatown"

"Chief?"

"Harris."

The curt greetings seemed to set the tone for the conversation. Harris sighed internally as her boss gestured her in. She closed the door instinctively, mentally prepping herself for the onslaught of reprimands. Her throat ran dry and she swallowed in vain as she sat across from the chief of police. His wide desk separated them, but it may have been nonexistent for the good it did.

Chief Raymond Briscoe exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair. "Have a good night?" he asked nonchalantly.

She shrugged, willing away the unease that plagued her since the day before. "I've had better."

"Likewise." Briscoe's long legs stretched to infinity as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I had the mayor on the phone last night and again this morning. He wants the Russell murder closed…and fast."

"I understand."

"And I had Gregory Richards on the phone this morning." Her coal eyes hardened as he sat up, reaching for the steaming mug of coffee. "Or rather," he scoffed against the heavy ceramic rim, "he had _me_."

"Chief-"

"Save it," he snapped, setting the mug down with just the amount of force he intended. "I just spent the last half hour apologizing to our prime suspect." He looked up quickly, glaring harshly. "You know I hate doing that."

"I do," she replied, the words rolling swiftly from her lips. "And-"

"How about you listen for a damn minute?" He waited until she sat back, her lips tight as she nodded. "You screwed up," he said bluntly. "You were too hard, too fast. He's irate and talking a lawsuit-"

"A lawsuit!" she exploded, ice burning her veins. "Are you ser-"

"As well as a formal complaint against _you_!" he interrupted loudly. "You went too far, Harris! You're lucky he's not making me ask for your badge!" He watched her freeze, all semblance of defiance flying out the window. "And would I blame him? No. When you attack a man's wife, his _pregnant_ wife, you're asking for it."

Her nostrils flared as she huffed angrily. "She's lying," she hissed through gritted teeth. "She's lying for _him_."

Briscoe held out his hands expectantly like a greedy child on Christmas morning. "Where's your proof?"

A deep glare furrowed her brow as she drew her head up. "I don't have it."

"Then-"

"But I know I'm right."

He drummed his fingers tersely on his desk as he spit out, "Then you're going to have to find some proof, and pretty damn quick, because from this point forward, you are forbidden to get anywhere near Olivia Richards."

"Chief," she sputtered, her eyes widening, "if I just had one more crack at her-"

His hand came down on the desk, an earthquake that rocked the contents on the surface. "Goddamn it, Harris! One more word out of you and _I'll_ be the one asking for your badge!" She sat back, crossing her arms defiantly as her eyes narrowed to dark slits. "According to Richards and the doctor, she's been confined to her bed for the next week and a half. You're going to march yourself up the beach and apologize to her for yesterday." He closed his ears to the indignant croak that rumbled in her throat and continued, "After that, you take her out of your investigation. Stick it to Richards without her. Understand?"

She nodded brusquely, smoothing her pants as she stood. "Is that all?"

"For now."

Harris spun away, bound and determined for the door when a thought rocked her. "Chief?" she called out, one hand on the door knob as she glanced over her shoulder. He looked up, meeting her eyes as she asked, "Does Samantha believe in you?"

"What-"

"Would she lie to protect you?"

"I wouldn't ask her to," Briscoe sighed.

"But she would if she thought it would save you."

"Harris-"

"Would you lie to protect her?" She watched him falter as his eyes flickered to a framed photo on his desk. "It's alright. I'd do the same for Donald," she said simply, opening the door. "_That's_ how I know Olivia Richards is lying."

* * *

Olivia glanced up from her magazine, the glossy pages crunching within her hand as she watched her daughter. Caitlin kneeled next to her, her small hands pressed gently against her pregnant stomach. Their eyes met and the little girl laid down, cuddling against her mother. "I didn't feel it kick," she said, sulking.

She ran her hand through her daughter's hair, stifling a yawn. "The baby's sleeping."

Caitlin sat up quickly, frowning as she crossed her arms over her chest. "But it's not nap time."

"We're tired."

"You're always tired."

She held her daughter close, yawning openly as she closed her eyes. "I'm know," she sighed, squirming to a cool spot on the pillow. "But Elsa's downstairs. She'll play with you in the pool."

"But I want _you_," she whimpered.

She patted her daughter's cheek affectionately as Caitlin pouted. "Go put on your bathing suit," she said as the telephone erupted in an insistent ring. She sighed, pushing herself up and leaning across Gregory's side of the bed. The shrieking phone was just out of her reach and she glanced to Caitlin. "Be a good girl and pass me the phone."

Caitlin scrambled across the bed, sliding off the mattress as she grabbed the phone. Instead of handing it over, she held it to her ear, the handset dwarfing her small head. "Hello? Daddy?" she asked, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.

"Caitlin," she sighed, her arm extended, "give me the phone."

"Okay," she muttered, reluctantly handing the phone over.

"Get changed into your suit," she said quickly, listening into the earpiece. "Hello?" Shallow breathing echoed from the handset and she frowned, pressing it closer. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

The line clicked abruptly as the call disconnected. The blaring dial tone filled the silence and she frowned, lowering the phone as she stared at it for a long moment. "Who was it?" She looked up, meeting Gregory's question as he scooped Caitlin into his arms.

She shrugged, passing him the phone as she retreated to her side of the bed. "Wrong number, I suppose."

"Daddy," she whined, twisting in his arms, "I don't want to go swimming with Elsa!"

Olivia watched him quickly glance to her, not able to read the meaning in his eyes before he looked back to their daughter. "You're not going swimming," he said, letting the mystery in his words taunt the little girl. "Elsa is taking you for a surprise."

"A surprise?" she squealed, beaming.

He nodded grandly, carrying her from the bedroom and down the hallway to the back staircase. Lowering her to the floor, he crouched next to her and whispered, "She's waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Elsa!" Caitlin called out, hurrying down the staircase. "I'm coming! Wait for me!"

Gregory stood, watching as Caitlin turned the corner and disappeared. A harsh exhale fell across his lips and he turned, going back into the master bedroom. Olivia was sitting up in the bed, leaning against the hand carved headboard. "She's especially lively today," she commented softly, stretching her legs.

"Yeah," he sighed, traversing the floor to stand at the foot of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Her eyes widened as she considered his question, tilting her head. "About the same as the last time you asked." His face broke into a smile as she chuckled under her breath. "It hasn't even been a full day and I'm bored out of my mind."

"Only nine more to go."

She groaned softly, kicking the silk sheets down to her feet. "Caitlin warmed to the idea of staying in bed all day until she realized how little there was to do."

"Elsa's taking her out," he said, reaching down to prop a fluffy pillow beneath her feet. "The park and then to lunch."

"Small joys."

"I wanted her out of the house."

Olivia glanced up sharply, her brow arched in surprise as he came around to her side. "Why?"

He reached for her bathrobe, the fuzzy terrycloth soft in his hand as he passed it to her. "The police will be here any minute."

She paled, leaning forward as he wrapped the robe around her. "Why?" she asked cautiously.

He heard the underlying fear in her question and he took her hand, squeezing gently. "It's not that." Her hand trembled within his and he rubbed it gently. "The detective, the one from yesterday, is going to apologize."

"_What_?"

A wicked glimmer flashed in his eyes, full of triumph as he met her gaze. "I had a word or two with the chief of police," he explained.

She hung her head, her dark hair falling in her face like a haphazard curtain. He reached out, brushing a thick section aside and tucking it behind her ear. Her chest rose as she sighed, filling the silence between them. "Will you stay with me? When she's here?"

"Of course," he promised, enfolding her hand in his.

There was a moment of silence as she took it all in, falling back into the feathered embrace. "An apology, hmm?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You know what?"

"What?"

"Some people say I'm persuasive," he whispered conspiratorially.

Olivia laughed aloud, her eyes sparkling merrily as a brilliant smile graced her lips. He paused, watching a healthy blush rise in her cheeks. Her laugh was a forgotten pleasure, nearly lost to the sands of time. It enveloped him, drawing him in with a playful enthusiasm he only knew with her. She squeezed his hand affectionately, the delight fading as her laughter subsided. "I don't know," she sighed, one of happy exhaustion. "People aren't always right."

His eyes darkened in mock insult. "You mean, I'm not persuasive?"

"I didn't say that," she giggled.

"Of course not."

She closed her eyes for a long moment, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "Being in this damn bed is making me tired."

"Rest isn't the worst thing in the world," Gregory pointed out. "Especially after yesterday." He watched her eyes open slowly, focusing on him as her hand fell from his. "What?"

She sat forward sliding her arms through her robe and wrapping it around herself. "The detective," she began as he braced his arms on either side of her legs, listening carefully, "asked me about your secretary, Nancy."

He frowned, his eyes narrowing in thought. "What about her?"

An unnatural chill swept through her, shocking her to the core. "She wanted to know about you…and your relationship with her." She watched his expression darken and she lowered her eyes, asking softly, "Why would she ask about that?"

"I honestly don't know," he said as the doorbell chimed from the first floor. Their eyes met for a long moment, a river of understanding passing between them in the silence. He stood slowly, leaning forward long enough to place a soft kiss on her lips. "I'll be right back."

* * *

"Mr. Jones? This way, please. Mr. Vickers will see you now."

Tony Sirano turned quickly, tucking the envelope beneath his arm as he followed the maid through the foyer. The vast entranceway held the same hallowed silence of a cathedral. The marble floor shone with such polished reverence that one felt guilty for walking across it. He sighed, nodding to the maid as she ushered him into a sun-filled room overlooking the pool. "Mr. Jones to see you," she announced grandly.

Mason Vickers waved his guest in, not looking up from the chess board. "Stand down for a moment," he said quietly, moving one of the porcelain pieces. The teenage girl across from him sighed and he raised his eyes sharply. "My granddaughter needs a lesson in patience."

"It's _some_ kind of virtue," she muttered, making a half-hearted move with her rook.

"Young lady," he said firmly, returning her piece to it's original square, "you will rethink your strategy and move again."

"But, Grandpa-"

"See the whole board, Miranda." He stood, buttoning his cardigan as he turned to his newly-arrived guest. "This way, Mr. Jones."

Tony followed the older man through a set of French doors, stepping onto the stone patio. He turned, waiting until Vickers closed the doors behind them. "You know, you may want to rethink the whole 'Mr. Jones' bit."

"And why is that?"

"Do I look like a Jones to you?" He chuckled, leaning against the back of the wrought iron chair.

"Bah. That is inconsequential."

"Not to my grandparents. They've turned over in their Calabrese graves."

Vickers frowned, resting his hands in his pockets as he stepped closer. "And this is the only purpose of your visit?"

He cleared his throat as he quickly passed him the envelope. "My contact with the Feds was able to work quickly over the holiday break."

"Excellent," he said, opening the flap and pulling out the report within.

"The short version is that there's no match."

Vickers glanced up from the two page report. "None?"

"No." Tony watched his employer skim the report and continued, "The prints lifted don't match the ones in Mrs. Russell's personnel file."

"It wasn't her then."

He shook his head, reaching out and pointing at the middle of the second page. "The blood sample typed AB, also not a match for the late Mrs. Russell."

"And how did you determine her blood type?" Vickers murmured, folding the pages back into the envelope.

"I also have a friend in the coroner's office."

Vickers chuckled to himself, tucking the envelope beneath his arm. "I'm always grateful that I had the foresight to hire friendly people." The humor in his voice died as he walked across the patio, lost in thought. He stopped at the edge of the pool, looking down into the crystal blue. "I'm back in the office next week. Deliver a copy of the report to Richards and-"

"There can be no copies," Tony interrupted. "I promised my FBI contact-"

"Fine, fine." He sighed heavily, watching the reflection shimmering on the surface of the water. "Your fee will be deposited by midnight."

"Thank you, sir."

"Go see Richards anyway," Vickers said after a moment. "Tell him everything you told me." He turned slowly, the mid-morning sun catching on his shock of white hair. "And then tell him to call me. _Immediately_."

* * *

Harris followed Gregory down the hall, Morales left waiting in the living room. She glanced around discreetly, her eyes moving over the mix of framed art and family photos on the walls. Curiosity was in her nature, feeding into her desire to join the police force at a time when not many women did. She stopped short when Gregory did, his hand on the knob of the master bedroom door. "Let's make it quick," he said shortly, pushing in.

She stepped into a sunny room, the scent of almond spice reaching her nostrils. Her hands tensed and she shook them loose, locking eyes with the woman sitting in the bed. Never before had a California king look so much like an imposing throne. She swallowed hard, the sick feeling of guilt turning her stomach as Olivia's eyes narrowed. "Mrs. Richards," she said softly, nodding as she passed Gregory to stand at the foot of the bed.

Olivia nodded in return, her lips tightening to a disappearing line as she looked past the detective to Gregory. He smiled reassuringly and moved near the window, leaning against the sill.

The detective cleared her throat, squaring her shoulders as she stood at attention. "Mrs. Richards, I would like to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was out of line and unprofessional." She felt Gregory's eyes burning holes in her and she winced, picking up on every ounce of smug satisfaction that he sent her way. "I hope that you will not hold any member of the Sunset Beach Police Department responsible for my behavior or let my actions taint your opinion of the force," she said plainly, forcing out the line that one of the department's attorneys drilled into her before she left for this farce.

She watched her shift on the bed, pushing herself up slightly. "Thank you, Detective," she said breathily. "I accept your apology."

Wrong, wrong, wrong! Harris' brained screamed, throbbing within her skull. The absurdity of the charade reached it's breaking point when Gregory cleared his throat, signaling an end to the torture. She forced a smile to her lips, glancing around the bedroom. "You know," she began, "most people only dream of how wonderful it would be to stay in bed all day. But when you actually do it, you realize it's not so fun at all."

"How long were you put up for?" Olivia asked at the moment that Gregory moved towards the detective.

"I was in traction for three months when I shattered my femur," she explained. "It was the first, and _only_, time I ever went skiing."

"Three months," Olivia sighed, absentmindedly rubbing the side of her stomach. "I can't imagine."

"It was a nightmare," she chuckled, easygoing and careful. "I stared at the ceiling so often that I made my husband repaint it." She felt Gregory's presence next to her before she saw him. She knew his fingers were itchy, just dying to extricate her from his wife's presence. "But my husband had plenty of movies on hand, so I was kept entertained."

"Well, Detective-" Gregory began, reaching for her arm to escort her out.

The detective stepped forward and pushed his hand away under the guise of brushing back her thin dreadlocks. "My favorite was _Chinatown_," she said, her knee grazing the mattress. "Murder, corruption, betrayal, love…Polanski put it all in. And of course, Jack Nicholson sure is something." She sighed appreciatively, meeting Olivia's slightly amused eyes. "He gives my very British husband a bit of a complex."

When Olivia chuckled, she heard Gregory suck in his breath and she dove head first off the cliff of no return. Now or never. "You know, since yesterday, a line from the movie has been running through my head. It just rings so true to our current situation. It's near the end. Jack's got the villain and he's listening to him try and justify his actions."

Harris paused for a breath, watching Olivia cock her head thoughtfully. She even had Gregory's attention, confusion rippling throughout the room as they waited to see where she was going. The spotlight warmed her, spurred her on as she quoted, " 'Most people never have to face the fact that at the right time and the right place, they're capable of anything'." She looked pointedly at Gregory, the world falling away around them, as she said, "Remember that, Mrs. Richards."

Never before had silence been so audible. It pulsed in the room as Olivia's face fell, her blue eyes clouding as Gregory sucked in his breath. "That will be all, Detective," he growled, taking her arm and leading her away from the bed.

"I'm sure," she said as he dragged her out of the room and into the hall. She shook her arm free, shooting daggers. "I'm putting you on notice: I'm going to nail you for Cashlin Russell's murder."

He closed the bedroom door quickly, staring down the detective. "Is that so?" he asked lightly, with a touch more amusement than Harris preferred.

"Count on it." They gazed defiantly at one another, their brown eyes crackling. "Have a good day, Mr. Richards," she said tersely, turning for the staircase at the end of the hall.

Gregory watched her saunter down the hall with a carefree air about her. The dare was set, a promise of victory laid out on each side of the fence. It would be a battle royale, the likes of which the good detective had never seen before. An unruly smirk came to his lips as he turned back to the bedroom. It had been some time since he'd been challenged this way.

But if it was a fight she wanted, then a fight she would get.


	27. Unexpected

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 27: "Unexpected"

"Watch me, Daddy!"

Gregory looked up from the newspaper, folding it back into quarters as he smiled at his daughter. Caitlin stood at the top of the slide, waving eagerly. The morning breeze was perfumed with the salty scent of the ocean, kissing their exposed flesh. He waved back, watching as she slid down the curved slide, her face a mask of glee. "I'm going again!" she shouted, her blond pigtails bouncing merrily as she jumped up.

"Be careful," he called, turning to one of the benches that lined the playground. He nodded to the man already sitting on one and sat next to him. "Morning," he said curtly, laying the paper beside him.

"Morning," Stanton replied, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. "Weather's nice."

"Yes."

They sat in silence for several moments, watching the children playing. Happy shouts came back to them, punctuated with excited shrieks and joyful giggling. The sun beat down on them, comfortably warm in the breeze. "Have you seen the paper today?" Gregory asked quietly.

He shrugged, noncommittal. "Only the funnies. My little girl likes them."

"As does mine," he replied dryly, passing him the front section. "Paragraph two names me as the prime suspect."

His large hands dwarfed the paper as he skimmed the article. "I see," he said after a long moment.

"I need information on this detective. Where she's from, what she does in her free time." Gregory sat up, drumming his fingers on the chair. "I'll need it quickly and quietly."

"Consider it done."

"Good." He reached into his pocket for an envelope and passed it discreetly to Stanton. "This should be enough to get you started."

"Plenty," he answered, feeling the thick bundle before slipping it into his pocket. "I'll have a report in a day."

"The sooner, the better." Gregory stood, signaling the end of their meeting. "Caity!" he called. "Time to go!" He glanced over his shoulder, nodding once more to Stanton before he walked over to the jungle gym to collect his daughter.

* * *

Jack Russell ducked into the Waffle Shop, nodding to Elaine. Her eyes softened and she returned his nod as he walked over to the counter and slid onto one of the stools. He looked down, lowering the brim of the faded baseball hat as she laid a place setting before him. "How are you doing, Jack?"

"Fine," he said shortly, busying himself with the menu.

Elaine bit her lip, toying with the worn eraser of the pencil as she watched him. A map of pain was etched into his face, begetting deep wrinkles where there had been none a week ago. He had aged seemingly overnight, a shell of the vibrant man he once was. "I just wanted to say," she began, her voice low, "how sorry I was to hear about Cash-"

"I'll have a mug of coffee, Elaine," he interrupted, the laminated menu smacking the counter as he looked up. "Black."

She nodded, reaching for the menu. "Anything else?" she asked with a level of enthusiasm that even made her wince.

"No." Jack reached for the newspaper, ignoring the way her gaze lingered on him for a long moment before she turned away. He sighed, unfolding the paper and spreading out the first section. A large photo of Cashlin was above the fold, just below the headline that urgently screamed: _BRUTAL MURDER STUMPING POLICE, INSIDER SAYS_.

He pushed the section away and sat back, rubbing his face tiredly. The lack of sleep was catching up to him, crystallizing in his aching limbs, bleary vision and pounding head. He rested his face in his hands, closing his heavy eyes. A black hole sucked him up and a shiver swept through him as he recalled the sick smell of the morgue. The decaying stink invaded his conscious as the image of his dead wife came rushing at him like a freight train. Her hair flat, her skin unnaturally blue and cool. But it was the angry wounds carved into her flesh that he couldn't forget and kept him awake at night.

Bile rose in his throat and he jumped up, breathing heavily. Bright sunshine filled the small restaurant and he blinked, his heart pounding as Elaine set a steaming mug in front of him. She glanced down, narrowing her eyes as she gently closed the paper. "Don't torture yourself with the paper," she said gently, pushing the coffee to him.

But it wasn't the paper. It was the sickly invading images that tortured him. They swirled black in his mind, quickly overpowering the paper thin grip he had on his sanity. He wrapped his hands around the mug, barely feeling the stinging heat as Elaine turned away. His chest was caught in a vise and he fought against the pressure to breathe. His vision swam, the fine print of the article blurring together and apart. He struggled over the article, the letters forming words and the words strung in sentences.

_While no arrests have yet been made, an official speaking under the condition of anonymity revealed that the focus of the investigation has shifted to Gregory Richards. Richards, a junior partner at the law firm of Erickson Vickers, was known to have engaged in a personal relation-_

The newspaper crinkled in his hand, the fine paper tearing easily as a low drone filled his ears. He looked down, the newsprint smudging grey on his fingertips. The anxiety of a moment ago dissipated, replaced by an ugly calm as he stood. He reached into his pocket, leaving a crumpled bill on the counter.

"You're done?" he heard Elaine call.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes darkening as he met her gaze. "Nowhere near it."

* * *

Elsa looked up as the front door opened with a flourish and Caitlin tore in. "Mommy! I'm home!" The older woman watched as the little girl skipped over to her, clutching a small bakery box. "I gots a surprise for my mommy," she explained, holding up the pink box tied with white string.

"She will love it, chula," she smiled, patting the small blond head. "Go up and see her."

The little girl raced up the stairs, the precious box clutched to her chest. "Don't run," Gregory called out after his daughter as he closed the door. As he started for the stairs, the housekeeper cleared her throat and he looked back. "Yes?"

She tilted her head in the direction of the patio and explained, "Mr. Vickers is waiting for you."

He narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly as he walked to the open glass doors. "Thank you, Elsa," he murmured. He stood in the doorway, quietly watching Mason Vickers amble around his pool. In the seven years that he had been at the firm, never once had the founding partner been to his home. Now, here he was, making an unannounced visit on the very morning that he was named the prime suspect in a murder investigation. With a deep sigh of resignation, he pushed the gossamer curtains aside and stepped onto the patio. "Mason," he called out, coming down the stone steps. "This is…unexpected."

Mason turned around, wearing a tooth-bearing smile. "Isn't it?" he asked jovially, shaking Gregory's hand. "Life is just a series of unexpected occurrences. The trick is how we deal with them."

"Yes. Well-"

"How is your wife?" Mason interrupted. He straightened his posture, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I understand she's been under the weather."

Gregory cocked his head, following the older man around the pool to the edge of the patio. "She's fine," he said simply, looking out over the beach. "Her blood pressure is a concern, but her doctor is confident that she'll recover with some rest."

"That's good." Mason propped his leg on the shallow ledge and followed Gregory's gaze. "I take it you've seen the morning papers?"

"Yes."

He glanced over, meeting Gregory's dark eyes. Tension crackled between them and he sighed. "I have to ask," he said simply, detached. "The firm's reputation has been dragged into this."

"As illustrious as it is," Gregory quipped.

Mason glanced over sharply, his blue eyes icy in the morning sunshine. "Now, listen here, Richards," he said quietly, an amused smile masking the severity of his words, "I'm prepared to ask for your resignation. I'm going to need certain assurances."

"Assurances?" A wry chuckle filled the silence between them, meriting a frown from Mason. "Such as, I assure you that I won't go into a murderous rage before the grand jury? That I won't stab the district attorney?"

"Don't get cute." He stood straight and turned to Gregory, all semblance of pleasantness gone. "I detest that sort of behavior. I need to know that there aren't going to be any nasty surprises that could damage the firm."

Gregory shook his head, ire locking his jaw as his employer continued, "Of any kind?" Silence was the only reply he received and he frowned. "All the skeletons hidden deep in your closet have a nasty way of surfacing if the police root around in it long enough." He watched Gregory turn away to the vast sea before them. "Did you kill Cashlin?" he asked bluntly.

A harsh glare tickled Gregory's eyes and it was a great effort for the simple answer to pass through his clenched jaw. "What if I did?" he asked with a calm that drew the older man's attention.

Mason chuckled and turned away, his white hair ruffling in the strong breeze that swept over the patio. "I suppose that's the answer I deserve," he mused aloud, glancing sideways.

"Never mind the truth."

"Bah. What is the truth anymore? We're lawyers. The truth is of our making. You know that." Silence became them and he looked over after several beats, clearing his throat. "We're retaining you for now. However, if the charges against you bear fruit-"

"I've been charged with nothing," Gregory interrupted, acid dripping in his words. "The police are running a three-ring circus and this Detective Harris is in over her head. She won't bear weeds, never mind fruit." Mason nodded, seemingly satisfied. "And Mason, let me remind you of the money I've made you." Ego and fury drove him on, full speed ahead as he rounded the bend. "Of the cases I won, the prestige I brought to the firm."

Mason smirked, folding his arms against his chest as he rocked back on his heels. "Perhaps," he said simply, cocking his head. "But if you're officially charged with Cashlin's murder, I'll demand your resignation all the same." He turned to leave, when a thought crossed his mind. "I told you just a short while ago to clean your house. I think you'll take my suggestion this time, which is what I would've repeated to you yesterday if you had called." He watched Gregory's face turn, a flicker of emotion holding as he continued, "Kindly ask your other lady friend to stage her temper tantrums somewhere other than my building."

Gregory turned slowly, their eyes meeting as he repeated quietly, "_Other_?"

The older man nodded, a wicked grin painting his face. "I must say, I admire your drive- juggling three women at once. But I can see how it spun out of your hands." He snickered, crude glee making its way from him. "It's near impossible to shower all of them with equal attention."

"What are you saying?"

Mason sighed, the moment of envious fun deflating as he explained, "The office break-in, Richards. It wasn't Cashlin. The finger prints don't match."

His mind spun, reeling in a dozen different directions as he nodded blandly. The rest of Mason's words faded to the wayside. _Wasn't Cashlin_…The sick feeling of uncertainty washed over him as he turned back to the ocean. The letters, the break-ins, none of it was her. He shook his head, trying to grasp a measure of understanding as the sun glittered on the ocean. A lead weight settled in the pit of his stomach, his blood running cold.

It wasn't Cashlin.

Then who?

* * *

Harris sat on the desk, her legs tucked beneath her. Thin metal blinds covered the window, shielding them from the rest of the squad room. A bulletin board hung on the opposite wall, cluttered with paper. Angry marker leapt from the sheets, a record of the facts. "The little there are," she scoffed to herself.

"If you're going to start talking to yourself, people will worry."

She glanced over her shoulder, nodding her greeting as the coroner stepped into the small fish bowl. "Make 'em wonder."

He chuckled, moving with seemingly little effort despite his ample girth. He leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets and turned his attention to the cork board. She glanced at him sideways, watching the way his eyes moved over the notes. "It doesn't look like much when you lay it out like that," he said quietly after a long moment.

She grunted a reply, her eyes darkening. "It's here," she said, insisting. Her hands balled into tense fists as she repeated, "The answer is in here somewhere."

The coroner nodded, saying nothing. He had seen the same resounding glint of determination in the dozens of detectives that came before her. It was a fine line: the overwhelming thirst for justice and the simple bounds of human ability. From the looks of it, he thought, Harris hadn't yet reconciled that battle. He shook his head and stepped closer to the board, clearing his throat. Like all the others, she would learn. "I've sent my final report up to Briscoe. I imagine he'll send it to you."

"Any surprises?"

"Well, she's still dead," he deadpanned, meriting a blank stare from Harris. He shrugged apologetically, the grin fading from his mouth.

"Uh-huh."

"There was something interesting," he said quietly after a moment. He cracked his knuckles, the pop echoing in the expectant silence. "It seems the wounds were consistent with those documented in a recent murder."

She spun around quickly, her thin locks snapping around her head. "_Ya mad_!" He began to chuckle, teasingly but with genuine amusement as her eyes lowered in embarrassment. "Sorry- my mother's Patois comes out in moment's of excitement."

"As I was saying," the coroner continued, clearing his throat, "a _recent_ murder. One that was on your case load, until the Russell murder knocked it off your radar." He watched her stand slowly, seeing the wheels turning in her head as she looked back at him.

"The girl. The secretary." Her jaw dropped and her breath ran shallow as an insistent hum filled her ears. "She worked with Cashlin Russell."

He nodded his head, satisfied. "And with that, Detective Harris, my work here is done."

"Right," she murmured, turning back to the cork board as he shuffled from the room. Her head spun, scattering in a jumble of competing thoughts. With her mouth set and her dark eyes determined, she smirked at the name in the middle of the web of evidence and reached for the marker. "Down came the rain and washed the spider out," she sang softly, harshly underlining Gregory's name.

* * *

Jack's old pickup truck swung to the curb, the sputtering motor a disturbance in the quiet neighborhood. He killed the engine and leaned over the steering wheel, staring up through the dusty windshield. The large home rose before him, standing majestic behind a scattering of royal palms and exotic ferns.

He rested his chin on his arms, staring up at the property. His ears perked when a stately car glided down the cobblestone drive and onto the street. He narrowed his eyes, the sun glaring on the windshield as the car drove past. A jolt of familiarity rocked him as he glimpsed the person behind the lightly tinted window: Mason Vickers. Cashlin's boss.

He sighed and reached into his pocket. Cashlin's gold cigarette case gleamed in the sun, her initials etched into the corner. He popped it open and slipped one of her slim cigarettes between his lips. The lighter clicked and the flamed danced in the breeze as he lit the end and inhaled deeply. The street had slipped back into its quiet reverie, a blissful shadiness that seemed nearly picturesque.

He rested his arm on the open window and watched the house through half-closed eyes. A thin stream of smoke snaked from his mouth as he leaned back against the cracked leather. He chuckled to himself, drawing on the cigarette as a beam of sunlight warmed the truck. All this idle beauty was just a façade for the dark secrets that lurked beneath the surface. Only time would reveal them.

And he had all the time in the world.

* * *

Gregory nodded as he passed Elsa in the hallway and stepped into the master bedroom. Twin pairs of blue eyes looked up at him, Caitlin chuckled as she hid her hands behind her back. "Hi, Daddy!"

He frowned, wagging his finger at her. "You've been up to no good," he chided, playfully ruffling her head. "Look at you. You're a mess!"

"A _shortbread_ mess," Olivia pointed out, leaning back into the pillows as she munched on one of the fresh baked cookies.

"Hardly unexpected," he chuckled, picking up Caitlin and throwing her over his shoulder. The little girl laughed uproariously, dangling upside down as he continued, "Our little sweet tooth."

"Stop," Olivia laughed. "She's going to be sick."

He lowered their giggling daughter to the bed, who opened her hands to reveal two halves of a cookie. "Are you going to be sick?" he asked. She shook her head fervently, shoving both halves into her mouth. "See?" he said, looking up at Olivia. "She's fine."

"For now," Olivia smirked, reaching for the glass of milk on her night table. She smiled up at him, raising the tall glass to her lips. "Is everything alright? Elsa said Mason Vickers was downstairs."

"Fine," he said smiled, breaking her gaze. "Just a case."

She cocked her head, watching him carefully. "Gregory, is-"

He shook his head, sitting on the bed next to her. He reached up, wiping the pad of his thumb across her lips. "Milk," he explained softly as her blue eyes slowly raised to his. Her lips curled as he cupped her neck. She looked back so hopefully, so trusting. His heart turned, writhing within his chest. Trusting Olivia. After everything. He forced a smile to his lips, his fingers curling against the flesh of her throat. "Everything's fine," he said, with enough conviction that he nearly believed it himself.


	28. Tell Me a Story

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 28: "Tell Me a Story"

"Happy New Year."

"Welcome back," Gregory murmured, looking up from the headlines as Thomas and Barbara came through the front door. Their faces were stony, Thomas' eyes accusing in the silence. He folded the paper and stood slowly. "I see you heard."

"Quite," Thomas said. He glanced around the living room and turned to Gregory, questioning. "Where's Olivia?"

Barbara looked up, brushing her blond curls back and saw the way her son-in-law's face turned. Her blue eyes narrowed, her mouth tightening. "What's happened?" she asked curtly.

"She's fine," Gregory said quickly, sighing at the accusation in her question. He watched her eyes narrow, defying the bounds of possibility. Olivia had told him her mother knew about Cashlin. While his wife seemed to be on the road to forgiveness, it was clear her mother wasn't anywhere close. "Her doctor is a little concerned about her blood pressure and-"

She froze, her brow furrowing. A tornado of unease swirled in her stomach, rocking her insides. She looked to her husband, nodding. "For the next few days, you say?" she asked, moving towards the stairs.

"Yes." Gregory turned, following her with his eyes. "Barbara?" he called out. "She's going to be fine."

Their eyes met, the space between them crackling. "Well, of course, she is," Thomas said, rubbing his wife's shoulder. "Olivia's strong."

"Yes, well," Barbara sniffed. "I think I'll pop up and see her." She pecked her husband's cheek and spared one more look of reproach to Gregory. He stared back at her, his dark eyes steely as he watched her turn for the staircase.

As her feet pounded up the steps, Thomas looked back to Gregory. "Is it just her blood pressure?" he asked bluntly. "The article said you both were questioned by the police."

"We were. There's no proof of anything, Thomas." He watched his father-in-law's head tilt, watching him. His gray eyes moved over him accusingly as he sighed. He stood waiting for the explosion of parental concern from Thomas. The ferocity with which Olivia's parents showered her with love and support was alien to him and it had taken some getting used to. Instead, he watched Thomas shake his head sadly and turn for the stairs.

* * *

Olivia looked up from the book of fabric swatches as the door to the bedroom opened. "Nana!" Caitlin squealed, scrambling up from the bed and leaping into her grandmother's outstretched arms.

"You're home!" Olivia exclaimed, pushing the massive book aside. "We weren't expecting you until later this evening."

"Well," she said brightly for Caitlin's benefit, "we came home early…with good reason."

She sighed, pushing herself up in the bed. "I'm fine, Mum."

"Yes, I can see that," Barbara said briskly, lowering her granddaughter to the bed. She cupped the small face in her hands and kissed her nose. "Your Mummy's not well, is she lovey?"

Olivia rolled her eyes and looked away, listening as Caitlin began excitedly, "Mommy and the baby need to stay in bed and get a lot of rest. And we get to stay in our jammies all day!"

"Well," Barbara sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and gathering Caitlin to her, "isn't that exciting!" She spoke to Caitlin but looked at her own daughter.

"Honestly, Mum, I'm fine. Just high blood pressure." She watched her mother's blue eyes narrow and she folded her arms against her chest. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Barbara asked, feigning innocence. "How am I looking at you, love? I just want to make sure you are rested and well." She ran her hand through her granddaughter's hair, watching as she played with the book of swatches. "We saw the paper when we stopped for lunch," she said gently. She kept her eyes down, even when she heard Olivia's sharp intake of breath.

"It's not what you're thinking," Olivia insisted after a long moment, her words clipped and distant.

"I'm quite sure it's not." She looked up, meeting her daughter's icy eyes. "I'm sure that whatever I am thinking is the _farthest_ thing from the truth."

Caitlin sat between them, a makeshift Iron Curtain that jabbered to herself. The familiar voices of her mother and grandmother washed over her, unaware of the deeper meaning to their words.

"What they're saying about him- what they're accusing him of…it's not true," Olivia said softly.

"I see."

Olivia sat up, her eyes bright and determined. "Mummy, I mean it." She forced a smile to her lips for Caitlin's sake when the little girl looked up and continued, "He didn't do it."

"I'll try to remember that," Barbara said, looking away.

She huffed and turned away too, leaning back into the pillows. Her chest tightened, straining painfully as her heart thundered. Her vision melted, bright spots dancing in her vision as she half-listened to her mother and daughter talking quietly. She envied Caitlin's carefree excitement and the ugly feeling made her feel sick. With a bitter gulp, she closed her eyes and wished to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

So long as she wasn't forced to constantly second guess her instinct to defend Gregory.

* * *

"Twice in two days," Stanton joked, following Gregory into the study. "You may just want to give me a key to the house."

Gregory looked back at him stonily, his face devoid of any trace of amusement. "We were wrong," he said bluntly. "_I_ was wrong."

Stanton nodded, racing to keep up. "Wrong about what?" he asked.

"Everything," he growled. He looked up slowly, his eyes menacing black holes as he stared blindly before him. The events of the last month played on repeat in his mind, faster and faster until it was a blur behind his eyes. He should have seen it. He should have realized it sooner. A hideous mocking consumed him, tormenting him to no end. _You let some woman make a fool of you?_

Bruce's hideous laughter made his blood boil and his fist came down on the desk. The wood absorbed the tremor, though the contents on the surface jumped and shook. "Goddamnit!" he growled as a searing pain shot up his arm.

Stanton sat still, watching as Gregory lowered his head, his chest heaving. Private breakdowns were one thing. It meant the person had enough frame of mind to control his emotions until solitude reigned. Public displays were another thing entirely. He had witnessed enough men spiral out of control to know that intruding helped nothing.

After a long moment and right before the tense silence became unbearable, Gregory looked up. He moved away from the desk, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Keeping his back to Stanton, he stepped into a beam of sunlight and leaned against the window frame. "We were looking at everything wrong," he said calmly. The sun warmed his face and he closed his eyes, briefly trying to recall the last moment where he knew peace. "You may recall the letters I received…someone coming into my home."

"Yes."

"It wasn't who we- _I_ thought it was." An angry sigh whooshed out of his mouth as his knuckles cracked menacingly. "I was wrong."

"It wasn't-"

"No…and now she's dead. We need to look at everything again. Anyone- no matter what."

"We can-"

"Morris."

Stanton looked up sharply, his brow furrowed at the use of his first name. He watched the man he roomed with in college, hearing the quiet anxiousness in his voice. "Greg?"

"On the desk. It came this morning."

He looked over, reaching for the pale pink envelope. "How?"

"It was folded up with the morning paper." He sighed, recalling how close it came to falling into Olivia's unsuspecting hands.

The thin paper crinkled in his large hands and he unfolded it gently. His eyes narrowed in thought, following the fluid curves of the delicate penmanship.

_My darling, _

_I waited for you last night, hoping to have you back in my arms. Where are you? What have I done to deserve this? _

_My every waking thought is of you, remembering how happy we were. I would go to the ends of the earth and into the depths of hell to get that back. Be mine again. Come back to me._

"Gregory," Stanton said softly, looking up.

"Keep reading. Further down."

He sighed, turning back to the letter.

_You're all mine again. Mine and mine alone. No one else can take you away from me again._

_No one._

"Well." He gently folded the demented love letter back into the envelope and slid it across the desk. "You certainly made an impression." He watched Gregory stiffen and he shook his head. "Any guesses as to who the lovelorn writer is?" He leaned back in the armchair as Gregory shook his head. "Sheila was always sweet on you."

"This isn't some ditzy co-ed," Gregory snapped, glaring out the window so intensely that his forehead throbbed.

"I know." Stanton exhaled deeply, wishing it could be that easy. "She wrote that your hers again." He paused, working it out in his head before he spoke. "Do you think-"

"Cashlin's murder?" With a painstaking slowness, he turned and met Stanton's dark eyes. "What else could it mean?"

"And I'm sure that you don't want the police involved."

Gregory shook his head. "Not yet. Not until we have something. They're already convinced I'm guilty." He sighed, moving back across the study. "They'll think it's just a diversion." He leaned back against the desk as the sick feeling of weakness swept over him.

"We'll take care of it."

A cynical sigh rose in his throat, tainting the confidence that Stanton exuded. "It's not that-" Anger swelled in his words, surging and straining against the thin dam of control. "This is a _threat_. Against me. My family." He pushed away from the desk, turning in frustration as he sucked air into his tortured lungs. "_My family_," he repeated in a breaking whisper.

"I know," Stanton replied, pushing himself up from the butter leather. "They'll be safe." His gaze bridged the short distance between them, crackling with understanding. It was the bond between men, an unspoken code of loyalty that two old friends shared. He sighed, watching Gregory turn and glare into the distance. The young man who was seemingly invincible during their college years stood before him, adrift as he obsessively replayed the last month in his mind.

* * *

The bedroom door opened slowly, creaking in the hushed silence. A warm beam of sunlight fell on the bed, a golden embrace that held Olivia captive. She sat up slowly, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes as her father came in. He sat on the bed, his hand strong as he grasped hers. "Olivia," he said softly, squeezing her cold hand.

She shivered, her chin trembling. His eyes were watchful, looking through the window of her soul. A sob rose in her throat when he sighed and she looked down at her lap. He reached out, turning her chin up. "It's alright, love."

She shook her head slowly as he gathered her in his arms, holding her close. She leaned against him, shadows of her childhood as he rubbed her back. "Oh, Daddy," she whispered, tears running down her face. "It's not. It's not."

He closed his eyes, her tears soaking his shirt. He hugged her to him, as if that could somehow protect her from all that would do her harm. Something that was easier to do when she was a child, he realized as her sobbing rose to a tortured pitch. His little girl was heartbroken and there was nothing he could do for her.

Absolutely nothing.

* * *

Barbara came down the stairs, her steps soft. The living room was still and quiet, sunlight streaming through the open patio doors. A distracting intruder plagued the home: tension. She sighed deeply, her skin crawling. Olivia was furious, barely making eye contact with her after their brief conversation. She ran a hand through her blond curls as she made her way across the room. One quality her daughter had inherited from her was determination.

And Olivia was determined to console herself with Gregory's innocence.

She stepped into the open doorway, closing her eyes as a cool breeze graced her face. She inhaled deeply, hoping for renewal. Instead, the spicy scent of a cigar filled her nostrils. Her eyes popped open and she saw Gregory sitting on a lounge chair. The sapphire pools narrowed, clouded with irritation as she crossed the patio. "Comfortable?" she asked, walking around to stand before him.

Gregory looked up slowly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Something bothering you, Barbara?"

She chuckled sarcastically, resting her hand on her hip. "Oh, Gregory…you don't have the time to listen to everything that's bothering me."

"Rattle it off," he muttered, rolling the cigar between his fingers. "I might just listen."

"How considerate of you." She moved along the side of the lounge, stopping until she stood next to his shoulder. "How serious is Olivia's condition?"

He sighed, gazing intensely over the beach. "Serious enough that she's confined to our bed."

She nodded, the gentle wind stirring her hair as an involuntary shudder swept through her. "I see," she murmured, looking up at the window she knew belonged to her daughter's room. "And after that, the doctor believes that she'll be alright?"

"He does." He set the cigar aside, a bitter taste filling his mouth. With resignation, he leaned back in the chair and said, "Thomas said that you saw the paper." Her eyes flashed and he was struck with an odd feeling of familiarity.

"_Yes_."

"Barbara-"

"You know," she interrupted, quiet ferocity ringing in her words, "I was always on your side. You were the type of man I always wanted for Olivia. Decent. Hard-working. And madly in love with my daughter." She looked down, her teeth catching the corner of her lip. "I slept easy knowing that Olivia was with you. No harm would come to her…I knew that you would see to that."

An overwhelming tide of sorrow threatened to knock her over and she gripped the back of the lounge for support. "When Olivia was shattered by your affair, I urged her not to shut you out. To try and _forgive_ you." She stopped abruptly, gasping for air. "And now this- how much more is she supposed to take!" she snapped, anger flushing in her face and throat. "She'd slowly kill herself in defending you, you know that don't you?"

Gregory stood slowly, locking eyes with his mother-in-law. "I won't let that happen."

She jutted her chin defiantly, staring him down. "Forgive me when I say that I'm not reassured."

"Quite frankly, Barbara, I don't care about reassuring you." He watched her eyes widen and her lips part, prepared to launch a retort. "Olivia has been, and will _always_ be, my first concern." His fists tightened, the dam crumbling against the surge of his charged temper. "I'd sooner die than see her harmed."

"She'd kill herself for you, you'd die for her…what good is that? And what about Caitlin and the baby?"

He sighed, clenching his jaw as he turned away. "This will pass," he growled, the tattered remains of calm flapping in the breeze. "Olivia and the children will be fine."

She shook her head, regretfully. "Oh, Gregory…I hope to God that you are right."

"Aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask what?"

He glanced over his shoulder, his brown eyes glinting. "If I did it." He watched her roll her eyes, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. "It seems to be the question on everyone's mind lately."

Her mouth set, a flash of resigned truth crackling in her eyes. "Gregory, what does it matter?" She shrugged and sighed with a level of frustration that spoke volumes. "Just…_fix this_! For Olivia's sake, fix it!"

She spun away, stalking into the house and slamming the patio door behind her. The slam echoed painfully, throbbing in the tension. She sighed, struggling to catch her breath as she closed her eyes. The world had spun out of control seemingly overnight and they were all struggling to regain their balance.

* * *

Gregory walked down the hallway, seeping with exhaustion. His eyes burned in his sockets as he opened Caitlin's door, blinking at the hushed darkness. Her blond head lay on the pillow, her small face relaxed as she snored softly. He walked quietly to the bed, reaching down as he tucked the sheets around her. With a grimace, he kneeled next to the bed, one hand resting on her.

The hideous feeling of uncertainty moved through him the way breath consumed a living body. It was so palpable, so demanding in its presence that he found it hard to recall a time when he didn't live with it. Everything was spinning out of his reach and he was grasping at straws, striving for even the smallest semblance of control.

He stood slowly, pressing the softest of kisses to his daughter's cheek. She sighed in her sleep, shifting beneath the warm covers. He turned to the window, looking out over the driveway and street. The dark sedan sat at the curb, enough light from the street lamps allowing him to see the silhouettes of the men inside.

He backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. The guest room door was closed tight, Thomas and Barbara no doubt still speculating the circumstances. He sighed, realizing that he had fallen from grace in their eyes. No more so than he had already fallen from his own.

A beam of golden light peeped from beneath the door of the master bedroom and he opened it slowly. "You're still up?"

Olivia lowered her book, closing it softly. "Yes."

He cocked his head, watching her. She looked away, her hand twitching anxiously against the crocheted blanket. He sank to the bed and reached out, covering her hand with his own. Her blue eyes turned up to his, a small smile curling her mouth. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

She shook her head slowly. "I can't fall asleep."

He clicked his tongue, laying next to her. She leaned against him instinctively, closing her eyes when his arm came up around her shoulder. A whisper of cologne clung to him and she breathed deep, taking it in and holding it close. His hand rubbed a comforting path down the length of her arm as the life within her kicked insistently. She heard him chuckle and felt the vibration in his chest as he whispered, "Someone's feeling left out."

She smiled and nodded, sighing against him. "Maybe she'll feel better when she has a name."

"She?" he asked.

"She feels like a girl today."

He nodded, surrendering to the soft embrace of the pillows. "What does a girl feel like?" he asked after a long moment.

"Demanding," she sighed as she let her eyes close.

Gregory chuckled and held her closer, savoring the feeling. In the absurdity of their reality, it was a ray of pure delight and he let it consume him wholly. He reached for the book of names, marveling at the heft of it. "Did you pick any?"

"None that I liked."

He set it aside, looking down at his wife. The strain was evident. Smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes stood out, a warning that couldn't be denied. Her eyes danced beneath the lids, unable to find rest. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, as if that simple act could heal her. "There's still time," he said softly, cupping her shoulder.

"I know."

The cocoon of sudden silence became them and her breathing slowly became deep. Her arm was heavy across his chest, rising and falling with his every breath. The quiet stretched between them and he had begun to believe she had fallen into a deep sleep when she whispered, "Tell me a story."

Exhaustion clung to her throat, her soft accent more evident. He looked down in surprise, his own eyes half-closed. "A story?" She nodded, sighing sleepily as she turned into him. "About what?"

Olivia shrugged, her hand moving to rest over his heart. The strong and reassuring heartbeat spoke to her more than words. "Anything," she murmured.

He nodded, closing his eyes and surrendering to the newfound darkness. "Anything," he repeated faintly. He felt her head move slowly against his chest, nodding her agreement. A gentle memory whispered in the quiet and his face softened, surrendering to it. "There once was a lawyer," he began, reaching to rest his hand over hers, "who believed his work was his life. He had been fighting for years, all throughout school and into his adult life, to make something of himself…to be more than what he was told the limit was."

Her fingers threaded slowly through his, followed by a gentle squeeze. "In working for everything he thought he wanted, he one day realized that he had nothing. There was no one to celebrate his success with, no one to comfort him when he was hurting. He had no happiness in his life." He paused for a moment, the loneliness of yesterday briefly resurfacing. He turned his face into Olivia's hair, breathing in the scent of her almond shampoo. "And one day, he met the woman that made his life worth living and made him want to be even better than his best. She made him whole. She was his life. She was his courage." He stopped suddenly, catching his breath. "She was his everything. He never wanted to know another moment without her."

He opened his eyes slowly, looking down at his wife. Her face was still, a mirror of the slumber that claimed their daughter. Her breathing was soft and even as her mind surrendered to a calm sleep. "They talked of marriage," he continued, drawing her close. "Of a long life with children and joy. Of retiring to a small home in the hills of Tuscany, where they would watch the sun set over the olive trees."

He looked up at the ceiling, his fleeting grasp of peace at the center fading. "And it almost came true, Liv," he concluded softly. "_Almost_."


	29. But Upon Probable Cause

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 29: "But Upon Probable Cause"

Morales shifted on the bench, uncomfortable. The wood was solid and unforgiving, leaving him with little options. After squirming in and out of several positions, he finally gave up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked down at the floor, his tired eyes heavy. It was early enough that the courthouse still had the essence of a quiet circus. The outright chaos came in the 8 o'clock hour.

Harris looked over when she heard her partner sigh and saw him pinch the bridge of his nose. "You alright?" she asked, the soles of her shoes making an annoying whine on the polished marble floor.

He nodded and glanced up, blinking his bloodshot eyes. "The baby had Shari and I up half the damn night."

She grimaced, sinking next to him. "What's the matter with her?"

He sat up, a proud smile lighting up his exhausted face. "Julia's teething."

She smiled back at him, watching as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a photo. "Ah," she sighed, looking at the photo of the baby with chubby cheeks and dark eyes, "the little diva."

Morales took the photo back, tucking it away. "Yeah," he chuckled, leaning back. "She's been throwing diva-like tantrums since they've been coming in."

"You should do what my father did for me."

"What's that?"

"Soak my soother in rum," she quipped, biting back a smile as Morales choked on his coffee. She shrugged, pulling back her hair into a tight ponytail. "It's an old family remedy from Oracabessa."

"Now, see," he said, trying again with his coffee, "that explains a lot."

She huffed in mock insult and a teasing reply was on her lips when she heard the sound of high heels on the marble floor. The detectives stood as Patricia Steele, one of the assistant district attorneys, rushed over in a flurry of strong perfume and silk. "I got them," she said, thrusting a bundle of documents into Harris' hand. "Judge Kline was more than happy to sign."

"Good thing Gregory Richards has gotten under his skin on more than one occasion," Morales deadpanned as his partner tore through the search warrant.

"Everything?" she asked, biting the corner of her lip as she read through the pages.

"_Everything_. The house, cars, office, cabin in Tahoe…even the damn boat."

Satisfied, Harris looked up and met Patricia's eyes. They crackled ferociously, lined with black coal as a vengeful smirk lit up the attorney's face. "Make sure you get him," Patricia said, brushing back her honey-frosted hair. "Cashlin was a friend, even though we were on opposing sides of the table. And every time I lose to Gregory Richards, I am one step farther away from being named D.A. Take him down," she growled, her brown eyes blazing.

Harris nodded, watching as Patricia left, her hips swaying from side to side. Morales whistled under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Now, _that_ is one angry woman." He glanced back at his partner, amused. "She probably could have benefited from a rum-soaked pacifier."

She chuckled, folding the sheaf into three neat sections. "Hell, there are days when I'll still benefit from one."

They turned, walking down the hall with a new spring in their step. Harris' hand trembled and she tightened her fist, willing the nerves away. It was all coming together. The secretary and then the lover. She shivered, thinking of the rage that must have coursed through Gregory. "God, he's good."

Morales stabbed the down button and turned to her, confused. "Huh?"

"Think of it," she whispered, her words coming faster as they rushed out of her mouth. "The way he's able to turn his rage on and off."

"Richards?"

She nodded, stubbing the sole of her shoe against the floor. "It's the loss of control that sets him off. He erupts, like a volcano, and lashes out. Then, he cools and banishes that part of him away."

"That's not _good_, Harris. That's _sick_."

Her face screwed, her professional armor of detachment fading. "You didn't see him with his wife after she collapsed. He was…beside himself with worry and then, when she came to…" She looked back at her partner, her dark eyes wide. "He's living two lives: the doting husband and the crazed murderer."

"Now, see," Morales began as the doors opened, "that's what I just don't get- that wife. How can she be in denial that he killed those women?"

Harris sighed, the cables groaning as it lowered the elevator down the well. "It's more than denial. Her mind absolutely can not acknowledge that side of him." She lowered her eyes, the search warrant snug in her back pocket. "Would you want to believe the man you love, the father of your children, was capable of that?"

"I guess not," he answered after a long moment.

"If she accepts that, it means that her whole life has been a lie. That everything she knows to be true and hers…_isn't_."

The doors opened and Harris led the way out, the court's business echoing around them. She instinctively scanned the lobby, from corner to corner. She cringed, her eyes falling on the bank of revolving doors. "Damn," she whispered as a short man rushed over, his note pad flipped open.

"Detectives! Fancy running into you here," Tim Kelly gushed, his copper curls glinting in the morning sun. "Any developments on the Russell case?"

Morales raised his arm, under the guise of shading his eyes from the sun, and gently pushed the eager reporter away. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, following Harris through the revolving door. He glanced over his shoulder, mildly amused to see the stocky man caught between the glass. "And, we've go no comment!"

A line of police cars waited on the sidewalk, serving as a rest stop for the clusters of officers that waited with them. They stood at attention when they saw Harris and Morales trotting down the steps to the street level. She reached for the documents, passing them around and doling out the assignments. Morales turned back in time to see Tim Kelly hustling down the steps, his round face flushed. "And, last," he heard Harris say, "Tahoe."

The officers grimaced, reluctantly accepting the warrant. "I know," she said, apologetic in the face of the long drive that awaited them. "Have dispatch radio the locals and let them know you're coming." They nodded glumly and turned for their cars as she turned to the remaining team. "The rest of you are with Morales and I at the primary residence. We're the lead, the rest of you fall in," she said, her hand on the open passenger door.

"Detective Harris!" Tim exclaimed, reaching for the small recorder and clicking it on. "Are you serving Gregory Richards with search warrants?"

She sighed deeply and turned, ignoring the way Morales chuckled from behind the wheel. "The department's spokesman will have an announcement later."

"But, Detective-" he cried as she slid into the car.

"Or, I'll tell you what, Timmy," she suggested, her eyes hot. "You could always ask one of your anonymous sources about it."

"Maybe I will," he shot back, the tape recorder still rolling. "They seem to know more than you anyway."

"Nah," she sighed, slamming the door shut. She leaned out the open window and gestured him close. "I just save all my sound bites for the _real_ reporters." His face fell, the wire frames of his glasses slipping down his sweaty face. "You have a good day now."

* * *

"Caity, stop squirming."

Olivia hid a smile behind her hand, her chest shaking from the effort. From the angle of the bed, she could just see into the bathroom. Gregory stood at the counter, a brush in one hand and Caitlin's thick hair in the other. Their daughter was in front of him, anxiously dancing from one foot to the other.

She leaned up, watching as he tried to juggle wrapping a small elastic around the hair. The brush slipped from his hand and when he bent to retrieve it, his fragile grasp on Caitlin's pigtail crumbled. He swore beneath his breath and Olivia couldn't help but choke back a snort of laughter. "Caity," she called out, "come here. Bring the brush and elastics."

The four year old skipped into the bedroom and jumped onto the bed, her father following. "I told you I would get her ready for school," he said, watching as their daughter settled in the space between her mother's legs.

"I know," she replied, quickly brushing and separating the blond hair. "But-, well, how should I put this?" The pink elastic bands snapped against her fingertips as she tied them around the pigtails and smoothed the hair down. "They don't teach you how to do a four year old's hair in law school."

Gregory chuckled, leaning against the foot of the bed. "I knew I should have taken that instead of Criminal Adjudication." He watched her pull Caitlin back, the little girl giggling as her mother kissed her forehead. "I'll drop her off and then come back."

She looked up sharply, the child resting against her. "You're not going in at all today?" He shook his head as he lay across the bed, stretched out on his side. "Why not?" she asked, his hand absentmindedly stroking the top of her foot.

"There's nothing there that can't be put off until tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next day," he explained, cupping her heel. "Or the next day."

"Darling," she sighed, gently pushing Caitlin forward as she sat up, "go to the office. Get out of the house and let me live vicariously though you."

He narrowed his eyes, thinking it over as Caitlin scrambled over him to sit on his hip. "No," he said finally, shaking his head as their daughter grabbed his shirt and shook it like she would the reins of a horse. "I think I'll just stay in with you." He patted Caitlin's leg, swinging her up onto his shoulders as he stood. The child squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around her father's head. "I'll be back," he promised.

She smiled, leaning back into the mountain of pillows against the headboard as she watched them leave. "Ok," she whispered, their daughter's laugh drifting away from her.

"Daddy!" Caitlin shrieked, half in delight and half in fear, as the top of her head narrowly avoided the ceiling of the stairwell. Her laughter echoed around them, bouncing off the walls as they stepped onto the first floor. Thomas and Barbara looked up, coming in from the patio after their morning walk. "Hi, Poppop! Look at me, Nana!"

A forceful knock on the front door interrupted the reply on Barbara's lips. Gregory turned, two unfamiliar shadows on the other side of the textured beveled glass as the knocking continued. An uncomfortable shiver swept through him as Caitlin knocked back on the door, giggling. He opened the door, staring at the duo on the other side. "Detectives, good morning," he said, Caitlin's arms locking beneath his chin.

"Good morning," Morales replied, Harris silent as she gazed up at the smiling child on his shoulders. Her stomach turned, a sour taste in her mouth as Gregory's eyes flickered over her. "Mr. Richards, we have-"

"Hi, there," Harris interrupted, looking up at Caitlin. The little girl waved down as her father lowered her into his arms. "My name is Jeannie. What's yours?"

"Caitlin," she whispered, suddenly shy as she pressed herself into her father's chest.

Gregory cleared his throat, turning around as Thomas came up behind him. "Go with Poppop," he said, kissing her forehead. "He'll take you to school."

Harris watched him pass her off and recite directions, instead making eye contact with an older blond woman. Tension throbbed between them, hissing in the silence. She unfolded the thick paper, holding it out to Gregory as he turned back to her. "We're here to execute a search warrant on the premises," she explained as he took it from her.

"Sid Kline and Patricia Steele," he marveled, chuckling ruefully beneath his breath. "You couldn't have picked two people more eager to sign this." He stepped back, holding open the door wider as the detectives stepped in.

A gasp died in Barbara's throat, a line of police officers streaming in and fanning out through the house. She grabbed her son-in-law's shoulder, squeezing insistently. "Olivia!" she whispered as he nodded.

"Detective, you're well aware of my wife's condition," Gregory said, moving to block the stairs. The warrant crinkled within his fist and he vaguely registered the sound of the sofa being flipped over.

"I will personally be searching the master bedroom," Harris explained, sliding her hands into latex gloves.

"Well, I can rest easy now, can't I?" he muttered, walking back up the stairs. He heard Harris behind him, her steps quiet. "What are you expecting to find?"

Deja vu coursed through Harris as she followed Gregory down the hall. Was it only two short days ago that she was first here? "The warrant states-"

He stopped short and turned, his eyes dark. "I don't have time to read the warrant," he explained, slowly and carefully. "I have to go explain to my wife, my hypertension stricken wife, that you're here to search the house." He shook his head, barely able to keep the contempt from his voice. "Do you even care what this will do to her?"

Harris swallowed hard, licking her dry lips. "A knife with a drop-point blade. Bloody clothes. Any trace evidence of either victim-"

A complacent smirk curled his mouth as he tilted his head, considering her litany. "Either victim?" he repeated simply as he turned away. "I see."

She followed him down the hall, an irritated sigh filling her lungs. Then again, she hadn't expected it to be easy. Nothing ever was. She waited by the door to the bedroom, not needing him to ask her to wait. Consciously or not, he left the door open and she could hear him, his voice hushed. "_They're doing what_?" she heard Olivia exclaim and she lowered her eyes. Gregory was on the phone now, asking for a Dr. Robinson. Disgust filled her, hardening her heart as she realized she had sunken to a new low. Not even in the animal kingdom were pregnant mothers tortured in this fashion.

The phone hit the receiver and she looked in, leaning against the door jamb. She watched as Gregory helped his wife into her robe and out of the bed. Olivia looked up, meeting Harris' gaze. She scowled, leaning against her husband for support. "Good morning, Mrs. Richards," she said softly, stepping into the room.

If Olivia's eyes were weapons, Harris would have been dead on the spot. She watched her swallow hard before turning her back on the detective. "Unless you plan on searching the balcony," Gregory said, "we'll be sitting there." He looked over at his wife with something that looked like regret clouding his eyes. "Her doctor doesn't want her moved farther than that."

"I understand," she said, her sweaty palms sticking to the insides of the rubber gloves. One of the crime scene investigators entered the room and she nodded, turning back to the couple. She looked at Olivia, thought leaving her. "Mrs. Richards, I-"

But Olivia gave her such a biting look of reproach that her apology died on her lips. She watched them disappear onto the balcony, the glass door slamming behind them.

* * *

Jack Russell leaned against the steering wheel, watching through the dusty windshield. The quiet street was engulfed in turmoil, half a dozen police cars parked haphazardly in front of One Ocean Avenue. His jaw hung open and he leaned out the open driver's window for a better view. Scores of police officers streamed in and out of the house, carrying out sealed brown paper bags. Down the street, a news van screeched to a stop. He watched in the side mirror as a camera man jumped out, glancing around as he checked the light.

A strange feeling came over Jack as he watched the pandemonium. He slid from the truck, pulling the worn baseball cap down over his eyes. He walked down the street, mingling with the neighbors that came out to gawk.

It was the surprisingly comforting feeling of satisfaction.

* * *

Olivia leaned back in the lounge chair, the sun-warmed cushion soft beneath her. One of the palms reached the second floor balcony, the wide frond shading her from the piercing sun. A strong breeze carried the sound of the police tearing through the first floor up to her ears and she clenched her fist, her nails leaving angry crescents in her palm. "How long will they be?" she asked.

Gregory turned around, leaning against the railing. "They could be done in ten minutes or ten hours." Her face turned, a spark dying in her eyes. He watched her for a long moment, the rise and fall of her chest increasing. He crouched next to her, covering her hand and squeezing gently.

She sighed and closed her eyes, the hem of her robe dancing on the breeze. "I wish they would leave," she muttered.

He unfolded her hand, frowning at the angry marks on her palm. He cupped her hand in his and raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the bruised flesh. "They will be," he promised. "Soon."

"I know that," she snapped, her eyes flying open. She sat up, an angry flush rising in her neck. "They are in our house! That woman," she spat out, "is searching our bedroom! Our _bedroom_, Gregory!"

He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. Her blue eyes were bright, blazing with all the violated anger coursing through her. "Don't do this," he said sharply, getting her attention. He slid his hands down, his thumbs finding the soft flesh of her earlobes.

Her mouth set, her eyes falling as she shook her head. "I hate this," she confessed, her voice cracking. She leaned into him, closing her eyes as his arms went around her. "I hate _them_."

"I know," he sighed, holding her close. Her back shuddered beneath his hand and he frowned, her sadness seeping through him like the plague. "They won't find what they're looking for and they'll leave. It will be over."

She sat up slowly, shaking her head with a heartbreaking resignation. "No, it won't." She leaned back into the lounge, turning her face away as she whispered, "It will never be over."

* * *

Barbara stood in the foyer, her arms folded tight against her chest. The ugly feeling of uncontrolled rage crept through her, a guiding force. She felt her husband behind her, vaguely registering the way he cupped her shoulders. Holding her back? She jerked when a porcelain vase shattered, a loud pop that caught everyone's attention.

Thomas' hands tightened around his wife, watching as one of the officer's shrugged apologetically. The broken shards glowed in the sunlight, scattered amongst the human tornado that ripped through the home. It was an army of destruction that swept through every room, turning over and searching everything within their reach. He sighed and turned away. There was something distinctly sad about watching the way the investigators searched through his daughter's house.

He turned, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. He stepped away from Barbara, meeting Gregory at the base. The younger man's eyes were hard, sweeping over the messy living room with a sweeping glance. He watched the detective and investigator brush past, empty-handed. "I think they're almost through," he whispered, drawing a nod from his son-in-law.

"Olivia's back in bed," Gregory replied, watching as the final team of officers came down from the second floor and went over to Harris.

"Is she alright?" Barbara asked, turning around suddenly.

"She's resting," he said as Harris cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Mr. Richards, for your cooperation. We're done."

"My pleasure," he smirked, opening the door. "We should all do this again…sometime soon."

She turned, her eyebrow arched in amusement. "Let's."

He followed her out, Thomas and Barbara on his heels as they watched the police leave. A fragrant breeze rushed over courtyard, stirring Barbara's blond curls. From the drive they could see the mixed crowd of neighbors and local media blocking the street. The reporters hurled questions at the police over the breeze, hanging over the barricade. Harris ignored them and leaned against the open car door, watching her men return to their cars. Quick movement at the periphery of her vision caught her attention and she glanced over, just in time to see Jack Russell striding up the cobblestone drive. She swore under her breath and slammed the door. This would not end well. "Morales!" she called, following Jack.

Gregory stiffened, watching the man that rushed up the driveway with short jerky movements. "You killed her!" Jack shouted, the faded navy cap low on his head. "You killed my wife!" His eyes danced, seeing red as Gregory sauntered down the drive to meet him. His arm went back, his fist a tight ball as he swung.

Harris got between them as his arm came down, pushing Jack back even as his fist slammed into her face. Blinding, white-hot pain filled her vision and echoed throughout her skull. She stumbled, feeling something warm run down her face. She felt someone jerk her away and she brushed her nose, looking down at the blood that stained her fingers.

"He killed my wife! He killed her!"

That angry accusation rang insistently throughout the courtyard, over the sounds of the officers that rushed back from their cars. Harris wiped the blood from her face, nodding as someone asked if she was alright. She saw Morales and two other officers holding Jack Russell back as another forced him into cuffs.

"He killed her! He killed Cashlin!"

One of the officers pressed a handkerchief into her hand and she wiped her face, tasting blood at the back of her mouth. Jack was still struggling, kicking at anything within his reach. His teeth were bared, his face flushed a deep red as a vein throbbed in his neck. "I know you killed her!" he shouted, straining against the officers as they began to pull him away. "I know you killed Cashlin! You won't get away with it! I know it was you! I KNOW YOU KILLED HER!"

She looked up at Gregory, who stood calmly and watched the chaos unfolding at the foot of his drive. He regarded it with the same detached interest that he would have if he was a stranger passing it on the street. Her eyes narrowed, gently probing her swollen face as he turned to her. He nodded deferentially, his eyes twinkling with amusement before he turned and made his way back into the house.

Harris turned back to Morales, wincing at the pain radiating from her quickly swelling nose. She coughed, spitting up a clot of blood as she growled, "Get Russell in the car."

* * *

Gregory turned, his eyes hardening as Jack continued to bellow. Thomas and Barbara were hot on his heels, no doubt hammering another nail in his coffin of guilt.

He could hear the police behind him, forcing a still screaming Jack into the back of one of their cruisers. The reporters shouted questions, their blood-thirsty interest no doubt fueled by the mini-drama unfolding in front of his home. The police cars in the street started, creating a bizarre symphony that drowned out Jack's shouts.

His flesh tingled, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing. He looked up slowly, his eyes sweeping to the second floor bedroom that overlooked the driveway. The corner room was to be the new baby's nursery, a prime space that would be flooded with sunlight all day long. His heart sank when he saw Olivia in the window, looking down at him.

She frowned, gripping the sheer curtain as she held it aside. An avalanche of silent accusations rained down on him, pouring forth from her devastated eyes. His chest tightened when she turned away, the curtain falling back into place.


	30. Days Like Today

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 30: "Days Like Today"

A cacophony of blaring car horns filled the radio silence and segued into a lively opening jingle.

"Goooooood afternoon! You're listening to 'Drive Time with Tim' on WHOC. I'm your host, Tim Kelly, and I'm with you as you fight the PCH home. I've got the day's news from Seal to Huntington and every beach in between."

Tim chuckled and leaned into the microphone, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "And we all know where the biggest news story is don't we?" He paused for a long moment, imagining the nods that came from his radio audience. "That's right, folks. The sleepy little town of Sunset Beach was turned upside down on New Year's Day by the violent murder of Cashlin Russell."

"Now, picture this," he continued, the pitch of his voice rising, "on New Year's Eve, just hours before she would stabbed to death, Cashlin Russell goes on a tirade in front of several _hundred_ witnesses that someone recently tried to kill her. Not once, but twice!" He chuckled disbelievingly and reached for his steaming mug of coffee. "Are you still waiting for the punch line?" He took a quiet sip of coffee, letting the dramatic silence tantalize his listeners. "She named the man trying to kill her!"

"That's right, folks! She told a crowd of people she was having an affair with a married co-worker and that he was trying to kill her! So, do you think anyone was _really _surprised when they heard she was found floating face down in her pool the next morning, her body riddled with almost three dozen stab wounds?" he shrieked, his shrill voice echoing in the small studio. From behind the glass, his producer rolled his eyes and turned back to the open magazine in his lap.

"And where is this married co-worker?" he asked. "Where is Gregory Richards right now? Why, he's sitting fine and dandy behind the gates of his mansion on Millionaire Row! That's right, folks. Thanks to the incompetence of the Sunset Beach Police Department, Cashlin Russell's murderer is as free as a kite!"

"You know, folks, it cracks me up. We're law-abiding, tax-paying citizens. Is it so much to ask for a _decent _police department? I'm not even asking for a good one! I'll settle for decent. These cops run around town, citing us jaywalking and enjoying a cold one on the beach. But I got to hand it to them, they do keep Ray's Donut Shop in business. Now, my friend Ray aside, we give these cops some real work to do and what happens? They bungle it!"

He pressed a button on his switchboard, the sound of a mooing cow saying more than he could dream. "A room full of witnesses and the words of a dead woman just aren't enough for our boy's in blue. Oh, excuse me," he chuckled, "our boys _and girls _in blue. You see, folks, Detective Jeannie Harris of the S.B.P.D, doesn't realize that two plus two equals four."

Tim pushed his glasses up on his nose and licked his lips, going in for the kill. "By the grace of God…or the delusion of the chief of police…Jeannie Harris was allowed to run this investigation and she's been spinning her wheels ever since. Has she arrested Gregory Richards? No! She just brought him in for _questioning_," he sneered, his words coming faster. "Boy, did this cop hit a few branches when she fell out of the stupid tree or what?"

"And now," he concluded, "she's raided his house this morning in the clumsiest execution of a search warrant I've ever seen! Come on, folks! It's been almost a week since the murder. Anything hidden is long gone. It's gone, baby. _Gone_."

He sighed, shaking his sadly as he rued the chain of events he was going over. "This is the state of our police department, folks. An up-and-coming legal star is dead. A murderer walks free. So, it almost goes without saying what I would do if I were Jeannie Harris, but I'm going to say it anyway: lock up Gregory Richards and throw away the key."

Across, the listening area, several different people had several _different_ reactions to his declaration.

Elaine Stevens dropped her serving bowl and covered her mouth, stifling a gasp. "Oh, Olivia," she whispered, side-stepping the broken shards.

Jack Russell, released from police custody with a stern warning, smacked the steering wheel of his truck and turned up the volume on the radio. "About damn time someone said it," he mumbled, lighting up a cigarette.

Bette Davis shook her head sadly and clicked her tongue, nuzzling her infant daughter to her chest as she watched Annie splash in her pool.

Ruth Runyon glared at the offending dial on her radio as her car idled in rush hour traffic. "Is that so, Tim Kelly?" she asked softly, glancing at the file folder on her passenger seat.

Eric Morales sighed and glanced sideways at his partner. Jeannie Harris narrowed her eyes as her hand shot out and snapped off the radio. "Bastard," she muttered, glaring as much as her swollen and bandaged face would allow.

Barbara Blake looked up sharply, allowing the plant she was watering to overflow. "Damn," she sighed, not noticing the pool of water that dripped onto her foot.

Thomas Blake grimaced and swung hard, a harsh crack preceding the golf ball's disappearance into the sunset.

Gregory Richards chuckled ruefully as he turned his car into the driveway, gripping the steering wheel.

And in the master bedroom of One Ocean Avenue, Olivia Richards napped fitfully, tossing and turning beneath the crocheted throw. Haunted, even in her sleep.

* * *

"I like the elephants, Mommy!" Caitlin pointed at the wallpaper sample, grinning broadly. "See?" She held out her arm, imitating the animal's trunk as she trumpeted.

Olivia nodded indulgently, closing her eyes against the pounding in her head. It snapped painfully across her forehead, tightening in her temples before snaking around to encompass the back of her skull. She pinched the bridge of her nose and reached for her daughter's shoulder with her other hand. "Don't bounce on the bed, Caity."

But the little girl shook off her touch, jumping more enthusiastically on the mattress. "But why?" she asked, her hair flailing around her head.

"_Because_," she said warningly, her eyeballs aching in their sockets, "I said so."

"But why?"

Her daughter's giggle was like nails on a chalkboard and she looked up, her vision dancing and blurring as she watched her daughter. A high pitched ring filled her ears and she winced, shuddering as a wave of nausea turned her stomach. "Caitlin, stop!" she cried, her skin crawling. "Stop it right now!"

The child froze, her eyes wide. Her chin trembled and Olivia sighed, watching as her daughter nervously shoved her fingers into her mouth. "Oh, Caitlin," she sighed, reaching for her. "I'm sorry." But she just backed away, anxiously sucking on her fingers. "Caity…"

Caitlin turned away sadly, crestfallen as she jumped down from the bed and left the room. "I'm sorry," she whispered, leaning back against the headboard. Her chest tightened, aching. Her breath ran short and her chest worked as she gasped.

"What's wrong with Caitlin?" Olivia looked up as her mother came into the bedroom, frowning. She shook her head, leaning forward as her eyes filled. "Olivia? Olivia, what's wrong?"

She looked up blindly, desperately sucking air into her tense lungs. "Ca- can't catch my br- breath."

Barbara sat on the bed and grabbed her daughter's shoulders. "Yes, you can." She blew gently on her face, rubbing her arm. "Breathe in," she said calmly. "Breathe out."

She nodded, the weight on her chest dissipating as she listened to her mother. Her throat cleared and a comforting breath rushed into her lungs. She sat back gently, her mother reaching up to fluff the pillows behind her. "Is everything back where it belongs?"

"Yes," Barbara said quietly, smoothing the blanket over her daughter's legs. "You can hardly tell the house was turned upside down this morning."

"That's good." And with that, came a painful sob. Her throat ached as she tried to hold it back and it swelled to a painful rock until the dam burst. She hid her face in her hands, shaking uncontrollably.

"Olivia, stop this," Barbara cried, pulling her hands down. "Stop! It's going to be alright."

"Alright? Alright!" Hot tears rolled blindly down her face as she shook her head violently. "Nothing is alright!" She fell against the headboard, wincing as the carved wood dug into her back. "It's like a nightmare I can't wake from," she whispered, her voice shaking. A painful void opened, threatening to swallow her whole. She wiped her cheeks, pressing her hand into her stomach as the baby kicked.

"Love," her mother began, inching closer to her, "your father and I were talking-"

Olivia held up her hand, sniffling. "Mum, don't. Please."

"_Talking_." She sighed and tilted her head, her voice dropping to a hush. "We think that…maybe it would be a good idea if you and Caitlin came back to London with us."

The silence hung between them, swelling to a quaking void. "Are you mad?" she gasped, her blues eyes darkening.

"We only-"

"Do you know how that would look!" she screamed, her neck strained and flushed. "Everyone- _everyone_- will think that he's guilty if we leave!" Her heart began to pound, trembling within her chest as her hand shook.

"Olivia-"

"No! No!" She threw the blanket back, shrinking away from her mother's touch. "I won't hear anymore of this! Get out!"

"Olivia-"

"GET OUT!"

Barbara jumped up, backing away from the bed. "Olivia, I'm sor-"

"No, you're not! You're not sorry!" she spat out, blind fury egging her on. "You think he's guilty!"

"Olivia-"

"Stop saying that! Just tell me!" Her head spun as she stepped outside of herself. She wasn't thinking, just reacting. Her words came sharp and fast, lethal. "You think Gregory killed that woman!"

"What I think doesn't matter," Barbara sniffed, almost defensive. "But I'm not wearing rose-colored glasses either."

She scoffed, her eyes blazing as she gestured wildly. "What do you want me to say, Mum? That I think Gregory killed her? Fine!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "I'm not sure! I don't know if he's innocent!" She sat back, fresh tears running down her face. "There! Are you happy?" She sobbed into her hands, gut-wrenching sobs that made it hurt to breathe. "I don't know."

* * *

"_I don't know if he's innocent! There! Are you happy?"_

Gregory leaned against the doorjamb, frozen. He could hear Olivia sobbing, her crying the only sound in the bedroom. A horrifying numbness swept over him as he lowered his head.

His chest throbbed, darkness encroaching his vision as he listened to her cry. Nothing mattered if she didn't believe him. In his innocence. In _him_.

He turned away slowly, quiet. It was cold outside the warmth of her favor, dark clouds threatening on the horizon. His throat tightened and he clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply. Her heartbreak stung, killing him a thousand times over.

And he couldn't deny the hideous feeling of betrayal that licked at his soul. She had lost her faith in him, that precious gift that warmed him for so many years. She was the first person that ever truly trusted him, the first to placed herself lovingly in his care.

"_I don't know."_

He shook his head, his hands deep in his pockets as he walked down the back staircase. And he had thrown it away.

* * *

"What do you mean 'you don't know'?" Barbara gasped, her voice dropping.

"It's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?" Her eyes blazed, bright blue that danced on a line of white hot. "You think I'm losing my mind because I believe in him."

"Love-"

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, her flesh itchy as it flushed boldly. She shook her head, her throat raw and sore. "He's my husband, Mum. I- I know in my heart that he didn't do this." A sob caught in her throat as her mother frowned. "You would do the same for Dad."

"Your father would never do this to me. To our family."

Olivia sighed in defeat, falling back into the pillows as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "Neither has Gregory," she murmured, turning away. "And, Caity and I aren't going to London. We're staying here. Now, please…go away."

"Love, I'm sorry. I just-"

"Go away." She pulled the sheet over her head, closing her swollen eyes.

Her sadness rose to an unparalleled level of depression, frightening Barbara. She reached out, touching where she knew her daughter's shoulder to be. A lump rose in her throat when Olivia squirmed away, sniffling beneath the pale blue silk. "I'm- I'm just worried about you, Olivia. So very worried."

* * *

Morris Stanton looked up as Gregory came into the study, his eyes downcast. "I heard about the search warrant," he said, accepting the glass of scotch that Gregory offered.

"They didn't find anything," he scoffed, the alcohol warm down his throat. "But they certainly tore my home up just the same."

"They just wouldn't be properly searching everything if they didn't destroy it." His large hand tightened around the crystal glass as he sat forward. He slid a thick folder across the desk and nodded. "The how and why of Detective Jeannie Harris."

Gregory flipped open the folder, glancing through the pages as Stanton recited the pertinent information. "Harris is from Jamaica. Some small little village in the hills. She moved to the States when she was three and grew up in Queens. She earned her-"

"She left Jamaica only to end up in Jamaica, Queens?"

Stanton chuckled, his cheeks rising as a broad grin stretched across his face. "That's what we call irony."

"I suppose," he muttered, turning back to the file.

"Like I was saying, she made her bones with the 15th Precinct in Manhattan while she took night classes at John Jay. She's got a degree in criminal psychology, which allowed her to work her way up to junior detective."

"And then she ended up here, a thorn in my side."

He nodded, raising the glass to his lips. "Quite the coincidence. Both of you being from New York."

Gregory glanced up sharply, his eyes blank. "One would think." He closed the folder and tossed it aside, leaning back in the leather chair. "And the other?" He shut his eyes when Stanton sighed, apologetic.

"Nothing. Nothing _yet_." He put the glass down and sat forward. "It almost doesn't make sense."

"Almost?"

"Think about it. You've got no idea who this woman is."

"No."

"There's no other woman in your life."

"_No_."

"Relax. I'm on your side." He ticked off two of his fingers and looked back to Gregory. "Did this woman just fall out of the sky, head over heels for you?" He sighed and hardened his eyes. "I'm going to look at your office next."

"You think she's there?"

"She knew about you and Cashlin. Maybe she saw something and got jealous."

Gregory snorted into his glass, sucking back the rest of his scotch. "You really think that's all this is?" he asked, the bitterness evident. "Some petty jealousy?"

"Truthfully? I've seen worse happen over less."

"Well, that's comforting," he snapped as someone knocked on the door. "What?"

The door opened slowly, Elsa peaking in. "I'm sorry, Mr. Richards. Your secretary is here."

Gregory sighed and nodded, gesturing in. "Thank you, Elsa."

Stanton stood automatically as the petite woman came through the door, juggling two boxes of files. "Good evening, Mr. Richards," Ruth mumbled, her chin holding a stack of folders in place. She placed the boxes on the edge of the desk, tucking a lock of white blond hair behind her ear. "I tried calling first-" she explained.

"It's alright," he said, peaking into the top carton. "We took the phone off the hook."

"Oh." She glanced nervously at Stanton, smiling weakly. "I hope nothing is wrong."

"Just the damn reporters," he mumbled, rifling through the box. "They've been calling non-stop since this morning."

"They've called the office too," she said, inching closer to him.

He glanced up sharply, meeting her pale eyes. "What did you tell them?"

"That I had no comment." She looked quickly to Stanton, who watched in amusement, and back to Gregory. "Was that alright?"

"Fine." He pushed the top down and came around the desk, putting his hand on Ruth's shoulder as he walked her out. "You did just fine. Thank you for bringing all of this over."

"It was no problem," she whispered, a schoolgirl blush coloring her throat and cheeks. "You have a meeting tomorrow-"

"I won't be in the office tomorrow," he interrupted, opening the study door. "But I'll need you here in the morning. I have depositions to go through and some other things that can't be put off any longer. Cancel everything else."

She nodded seriously, pulling the strap of her handbag up on her shoulder. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Excellent. You can see yourself out?" When she nodded, he took his hand from her shoulder. "Thank you, Ruth. Have a good night."

"You too, Mr. Richards," she squeaked as he closed the door on her.

"You too, Mr. Richards," Stanton mimicked, assuming a high-pitched voice. He chuckled, leaning against the club chair. "How far we've come from the Theta days."

A reminiscent smile tugged at Gregory's mouth as he pulled out a stack of briefs. "What?"

"That's exactly," he continued, cocking his head to where Ruth just stood, "the type of person I'd be suspicious of."

"Her? You've got to be kidding me." Gregory shook his head, chuckling beneath his breath. "She's so high-strung it took her a week to stop jumping every time I spoke." Stanton snickered, reaching for his scotch as Gregory continued, "Besides, she's only been working for me a few weeks. The letters started _long _before that."

"Well, her aside, I'm still going to poke around your offices. See what I can find."

"By all means." Gregory looked up, his eyes dark. "The sooner we find Cashlin's real killer, the sooner I can put this mess behind me."

* * *

Tomorrow.

The accelerator flattens beneath my foot, the engine whining. The moon was rising, silver light filling the dark sky. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white.

Tomorrow.

He wanted me. He still wanted me.

I shriek, a joyous moan filling my chest as I touch the spot on my shoulder that he did. His hand was warm, gently squeezing as he looked into my eyes. "I'll need you here in the morning," I whisper, repeating him.

Tomorrow.

* * *

Olivia looked up as the bedroom door opened, sitting up. She watched Gregory come in, tossing a bundle of mail onto the foot of the bed. "Where were you?" she asked, her eyes falling as he disappeared into his walk-in closet

"Downstairs," he called out, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his polo. "With Morris. He's doing some investigative work for one of my cases." He winced, hearing the lie come out of his own mouth.

Her hair fell in wavy cascades around her face, her eyes red as she looked up. "Darling," she said, her voice hoarse. "Please come here." Gregory came out, his face unreadable as he stood before her. "Are- aren't we going to talk about what happened today?"

He sighed, crossing his arms against his bare chest. "Why?" he asked, his stomach turning. "Will it change anything?"

Her lips parted, her breath a croak as she shook her head. "I don't know," she stammered. Her skin crawled, unbearably itchy and hot. "My mother wants Caity and I to go back to London with her and Dad."

A spark within him died, the golden light fading fast from his soul. London was thousands of miles away from everything. There was no stress for her there. "How long will you go for?"

Her eyes widened and her chest shook. "No, I told her no. We're staying here- with you." Her breathing came fast and stilted, her hand trembling. "Do- do you want me to go?"

He shrugged, glancing through the mail. "I think we need to do what's best for you and the baby." He looked up suddenly, nearly crestfallen before his expression steadied. "I can't say that there won't be more days like today."

Olivia shuddered at his ominous tone, fervently scratching her stomach. She sat back, words failing her. He didn't want her. It was happening all over again. She turned away, barely listening as he went through the mail. Her body twitched and she pushed herself up from the bed, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm hot," she murmured, opening the robe and letting the silk fall away from her body.

"My God, Liv," he gasped, dropping the stack of envelopes and catalogues. Hideous red welts covered her arms and neck, sweeping down to her chest. She shrank away from his touch as he ran his hand over the swelling. "They're everywhere," he said, scooping her into his arms.

"What are they?" she asked as he carried her into the bathroom. "They itch."

He carried her right over to the claw foot tub, sitting her in it as he turned on the faucet. "Hives, I think," he said as warm water began to fill the tub and he pulled her nightgown off. He reached for the bath sponge, letting the water run over it before he pressed it to her irritated flesh.

She leaned into him, closing her eyes as the water quickly filled the tub. He gently pressed the warm sponge, taking away the sting of the hives. She heard him sigh and felt him brush her hair away from her back. "They're all down your back, too," he said, cupping the water into his hands and letting it run down her back.

"Gregory," she murmured.

"Lean back," he said, sitting her against the high back as he turned for the cabinet beneath the sink. "Didn't we use this when Caity had the chicken pox?" She looked up, watching as he dumped two handfuls of cornstarch into the tub. He used his hand to mix it in, the clear water turning milky white. "Just sit back…and rest."

She watched as he soaked the sponge for a long moment before pressing it over her collarbone. He met her eyes tentatively, unsure of what he would find there. She looked back at him sadly, her eyes shiny and full. "They should be gone in the morning," he said softly, leaning closer to her. She nodded, inhaling sharply as the painful itching began to lessen. He brushed her hair from her eyes, the back of his hand grazing her cheek. "I- I don't want you to go away," he confessed, his voice cracking.

She reached up, covering his hand with her own. "I don't want to either," she whispered as she sat up. She leaned back into him, squeezing his bare arm to her. He nodded, the sponge falling from his hand as he hugged her closer. Her tears stained his arm as he shuddered, pressing his face into her hair.


	31. Epiphany

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 31: "Epiphany"

"I don't care what you do with your dog, just do _something_!"

Ruth flinched at the bellow echoing around her as she stepped into Gregory's study. He glanced up long enough to give her a cursory nod and wave her in. She heard the maid softly close the door behind her, sealing them in together. She slipped her arms out of her sweater and laid it over the arm of the sofa, just as she had every day for the last week. The whispers of gossip swirled around the office, clouding the environment like a foggy morning and banishing them to his home office.

She sat on the small sofa, pushing her glasses up as she reached for the stack of depositions. She thumbed through them slowly, keeping up appearances as she listened to his powerful end of the conversation.

"Look, Rick, daughter hasn't had a decent night's sleep in almost a week. Just because you and Anne can sleep through the dog's howling doesn't mean the rest of us can."

She looked up when she heard him sigh, frustration tinged with annoyance. The phone was pressed to his ear and he was rubbing his face awake. When he lowered his hand, she saw smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes and defeat in his slumped shoulders. Pained regret wrinkled across her face and she sighed as her heart filled with sympathy for him.

"Rick, just put the damn dog in at night, alright?" A brief moment of silence passed before he slammed the phone down, the handset crashing into the receiver. "Moron," he muttered beneath his breath as he leaned back. His back cracked and popped against the chair and he winced, stabbing the leather blotter. "Do you have any dogs, Ruth?"

She looked up sharply, clearing her throat before she whispered, "No." She watched him nod and turn away, staring off blankly into space.

"Then you won't mind that I say they're annoying noisemakers," he said aloud, leaning back in his chair.

She allowed herself a moment to admire his profile, dark eyes and strong jaw glowing in the sunlight. "Actually," she began, lowering her glasses and brushing her hair back, "I'm allergic to dogs."

The silence twisted and grew between them and she sat up, waiting for his reply. His eyes lowered as he sighed heavily and she resisted the urge to throw her arms around him. Her arms ached to soothe his suffering, her lips longed to heal him.

"Isn't that something?" he said after an eternity. "So am I." He sat up with a purpose, reaching for the steaming mug of coffee on his desk. "Let's just hope that my neighbor does something about his dog so I can enjoy a quiet night."

Ruth nodded, putting her glasses back on as she turned back to her work. "I'm sure he will," she said simply, straightening the depositions into a neat stack.

"That reminds me," he said, flipping open a brief. "I won't need you here tomorrow morning."

"No?" she asked, her heart sinking.

"No," he replied. "Be here around noon instead."

"_Oh_." Her weak voice grew in intensity as she beamed. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine." He looked up, meeting her eyes as he sent her a tired smile. "Olivia has a doctor appointment tomorrow."

Ruth nodded, pursing her lips until they nearly disappeared. _It was her again_, she thought bitterly as she looked away. _It would always be her_.

* * *

"You're not still going over those again, are you?"

Harris jumped and looked up, seemingly as guilty as a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I didn't here you come in," she said, shoving the crime scene photos and reports into a thick folder.

"Ah," Donald Harris said, sinking onto the sofa next to his wife, "so you're just a sneak?"

Her brown eyes glittered as she leaned into him, sighing as his arm went around her. "Well, there are two ways I could answer that question."

"Really?"

She nodded, letting the rhythm of his breathing rock her into a sea of calm. "The first could be that, yes, I was working on my first day off in weeks."

"Or?"

"Or, that I was only getting back at you for working last night." Harris felt her husband stiffen and she giggled, throwing her arm across her chest as she squeezed herself closer. "I heard you watching a movie last night after I went to bed."

"Now, Jeannie," he stammered, his accent more pronounced as he tripped over his words, "I know how you hate to sit through-"

"Oh, no!" she interrupted with a chuckle as she sat up. "Don't turn this around on me. I've sat through _every_ one of Hitchcock's movies for you."

"And I appreciate that," he piped in, meriting a snort from his wife.

"But what I can't do, _Professor_," she continued, her voice rising with a teasing inflection that made him smile, "is re-watch the same movies just to analyze the camera angles!"

"I'll have you know, _Detective_," he huffed, chucking her chin affectionately, "that there is much more to Hitchcock than mere camera angles."

"Such as?"

"Well," he began, with such a sigh that Harris knew he was only getting started, "take _Notorious_, for example. It's a film about deception. Alicia and Devlin deceive Alex, Alex and his mother deceive Alicia, Alex deceives his associates."

"Uh huh." She giggled when he frowned, though he twirled one of her thin dreadlocks around his finger. "Sounds thrilling."

"It certainly is," he said indignantly, causing Harris to bite her lip and hold back a laugh. "And, just look at the extreme relationship between Alex and his mother. When he finds out that Alicia has betrayed him, he goes straight to his mother. He had spent the whole movie siding with his wife and defending her, but he returns to the maternal safety net the moment he is in trouble. In the end, he chooses to sacrifice her in order to save himself."

Harris looked up sharply, her face wrinkled in thought. "What did you say?"

"I said that Alex sacrifices his wife to save himself." She sat up quickly and he cocked his head, watching her carefully. "Jeannie?" He watched as she jumped up from the sofa and began to pace the length of their small living room.

"Sacrifice!" she exclaimed, turning back to her husband. "Oh my God, Donald! That's it!"

Donald sat up and reached for his wife, only to have her dart out of his reach. "Jeannie, what are you talking about?"

She dove for the file, rifling though it. "He didn't kill either of them! I've got- I've got to go!" She leaned down and grabbed his face, placing a long kiss on his lips. "I'll be back before dinner. I promise!"

"But it's your day off!" he exclaimed as he jumped off the sofa and followed her to the front door. "Jeannie!"

"I'm sorry!" she shouted, sliding behind the wheel of her unmarked car. She rolled down the window and stuck her head out. "You may have just solved my case!"

* * *

"You're not sleeping, are you?"

Olivia looked up at the voice, shaking her head tiredly as she stretched. "No," she sighed, sitting up and pushing the photo album from her lap. "Not really."

"Not really?" Elaine repeated thoughtfully, leaning down to hug and kiss her friend. "I think that really means _yes_."

"Well…" Olivia chuckled and moved her legs so that Elaine could sit next to her. "There's not really much else to do but sleep."

"That's good then. You and Baby Richards need all the sleep you can get." She smiled, brushing her red hair back as she tucked her leg beneath her. "Other than sleeping, how have you been feeling?"

With a shrug, Olivia clenched the lapels of her thick robe together. "I'm freezing every second of every day, but otherwise, I'm alright."

"Really?"

Their eyes met, green on blue, for a long moment. Elaine rushed forward, eager to fill the uncomfortable silence. "I'm sorry! I just- I just meant-"

"It's fine," she interrupted, sinking back into the pillows. She shrugged, folding her hands on the crest of her stomach. "It's all anyone can talk about." She gestured to the phone, the cord wrapped tight around it. "Reporters have been calling non-stop. Gregory had to unplug it."

"The papers haven't said anything new the last few days." She squeezed Olivia's hand, her eyes widening hopefully. "That's a good sign, don't you think?"

A mournful sigh filled the silence as Olivia's blue eyes slowly looked up. "I don't know what to think…not anymore."

"Oh, Olivia," she sighed, reaching out to hug her friend close. Other than a slight shudder, Olivia barely reacted and said nothing when she pulled away. "Maybe you should get away for awhile? What does your doctor say?"

She sat back, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. "I see Dr. Robinson tomorrow and, at this point, I'm just hoping he releases me from bed rest." A pit of unease settled in her stomach, icy fingers caressing her to send a shiver down her spine. It was true- she didn't know what to think. Her confidence was shattered, leaving her spinning aimlessly in the wind. Leaving wouldn't fix anything. Nothing would.

"It'll be nice to leave your bedroom, I'm sure," Elaine said gently, not liking the pain etched in her friend's face. How long had it been since she had seen her? Nearly a month, she recalled, her eyes moving over the worry lines that hadn't been there then. Dark smudges of sleeplessness shadowed Olivia's eyes, the once bright irises dull and listless. "What can I do?"

The sincere question drew a weak smile from Olivia and she reached out, taking Elaine's hand. "You visited. That's enough."

A window opened and Elaine tentatively leaned through it. "I haven't wanted to get in the middle of it, but have you spoken to Bette?"

Olivia shook her head slowly, sighing heavily. "After our last conversation, I really hadn't expected to."

"I don't know," she began, "what exactly happened, but, I do know that Bette is sick over it." Olivia's eyebrows arched in surprise and she continued, insisting, "She is! I saw her the other day and she was so upset over what that horrible Tim Kelly has been saying."

When Olivia looked away and said nothing, Elaine sighed and patted her hand. "Well, like I said, I don't want to get in the middle of it. I just wanted you to know that she was worried about you." Still, she said nothing and Elaine knew enough to read the writing on the wall. "I should go and let you get some rest," she said, stretching her legs to stand.

"No!" Olivia's hand flew out, grasping her friend's wrist. "Stay another moment."

Elaine nodded and sat back down, wincing as Olivia's cold fingers slid down to squeeze her hand. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes," she said dismissively as she sat up. "What you said before-"

"About Bette?"

"No. About Tim Kelly." Olivia's eyes bore into Elaine's, glittering with the passion of determination. "I need to know what he's been saying."

"Olivia-"

"Elaine, please! No one has told me anything! Gregory, my parents…they've tried to keep everything away, but I need to know. I _need_ to know."

"I really don't think that Tim Kelly is the source for unbiased news in southern California."

"Oh, I know that. He's raked Gregory over in the past for the clients that he's defended. But, if I know what he's saying, I can be prepared to re-enter the world tomorrow." Her eyes fell and Elaine could see an unspoken question dancing on her lips. After a long moment, she asked softly, "Everyone knows that Gregory was having an affair with Cashlin, don't they?"

Elaine nodded, her eyes sad as she frowned. "After the New Year's spectacle, I expected as much," she heard Olivia say. She found it hard to meet Olivia's eyes, anticipating the next question before she heard it. "Do people think that Gregory killed her?"

"I don't," Elaine insisted as Olivia smiled sadly.

"But Tim Kelly does. And so do the people that read his column and listen to his show," she pointed out. She sighed and leaned back, slowly pulling the blankets over her. "Well," she sighed, her voice thick with exhaustion, "I suppose it could be worse. I mean, Gregory could actually be _guilty_ of murder instead of simply being _accused_ of it." She turned back to her friend, her expression unreadable as she whispered, "I never thought I would ever have to say something like that."

"It will get better," she said, reaching for her hand. "You just have to have faith."

"Faith?" Olivia repeated blankly. She met Elaine's eye, remembering the sad anniversary that came with every new year. A familiar guilt consumed her and she shivered, wondering, and not for the first time, if she was finally feeling karma's wrath. "I think that I may have exhausted God's charity," she muttered as she took her guilt and looked away.

* * *

Morales looked up as Harris ran into the squad room, shouting for him. "I thought you were off today," he said, standing up as she unceremoniously dropped their case file on his desk.

"Changes of plans," she gasped, wiping a sheen of sweat from her forehead. "It's all Donald's fault. He was babbling about the plot to one of his movies when it hit me."

"What?"

"We're wrong!" She smacked his chest for emphasis, her dark eyes wide. "We are so _wrong_!"

"About what?" he asked, watching as she flipped open the file and began arranging crime scene photos. "Everything?"

"Yes! No!" She pointed to pictures of the remains of Nancy McCarthy and then to the coroner's report of Cashlin's death. "It was one line, but we completely overlooked it." As Morales reached for the report, she said aloud, "Doc said the suspect was shorter than Nancy. And in the report on Cashlin, it says that the trajectory of the wounds indicates the same thing." Her words came faster, more urgent as she reached her point. "Richards didn't kill these women! His wife did! And he's covering for her!"

"Harris…"

"Think about it," she interrupted. "Olivia Richards is a jealous wife. She's pregnant, but that still doesn't stop her husband from straying. First Nancy, then Cashlin and her competition is eliminated. Her husband finds out, feels guilty and helps her cover her crimes."

Morales looked up and nodded slowly. "Who better to help a criminal than a defense attorney?"

"And one that's in his own family? Please," she scoffed, leaning against the unforgiving metal desk. "He's going to sacrifice himself to save her. He would take this all the way to trial, get his wife immunity and then get himself off on lack of evidence." She groaned and hid her face in her hands. "Oh, it all makes sense now! Why didn't I think of this earlier?"

"Take it easy, Harris," he said, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder. "We've all bent the evidence to fit our suspects."

"_I_ don't," she said, looking up to meet his eyes. "We have to do this right from now on. Richards can't know that we've made his wife, not to mention that I'm prohibited from getting within five feet of Olivia Richards."

He whistled under his breath and shook his head. "It's going to be hard."

"We've done hard before."

* * *

The thick grass crunched beneath my feet, barely stirring the heavy night air. The moon peaked out from behind a thick cloud, a scattering of silver light to guide me. I pushed through the brush, a prickly branch scratching across my bare arms. Loud barking drowns out my hiss, though I can feel a drop of blood running down my flesh.

I push a dying palm frond aside, hiding in its shadow as I watch the large dog pacing the yard. He stalks back and forth, alternately stopping and starting to howl at the sky. His bark is all consuming, echoing in my ears and throbbing in my chest. I wrinkle my face and turn my disdain to the home of his masters.

"All he asked you to do was put him in," I whisper to the dark windows. "Was that so hard?" With a gentle step, I leave the shadow of the palm. I'm barely a blip on the dog's radar as he continues to pace and bark. "Why are you so loud, fella? My husband and daughter can't sleep because of you."

I reach into the pocket of my jeans, unfolding the knife's blade from the handle. A whimsical tune from my childhood rises in my throat and I hum it softly as I stride over to the annoying dog. He turns to me, watching me with big eyes as he barely pauses his barking tirade.

It's over in a matter of seconds, the sound of silence drowning out the echo of his bark. I pat his still head before I stand, tucking the knife back into my pocket. "Good dog," I whisper, turning away to saunter out of the yard.


	32. Broken

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 32: "Broken"

"Hello, Elsa."

Elsa Garcia gazed warily through the screen door, brushing away a piece of fly-away hair. She recognized the detectives standing on the other side and stiffened, her hand gripping the knob. "We'd like to speak with you," she heard the woman say.

"About what?"

Harris smiled cordially as Morales shifted anxiously next to her. "You work for Gregory and Olivia Richards."

"Yes." The syllable rested between them, tense and unforgiving. Harris watched as the older woman folded her arms across her chest and glared at them. Clearly, Gregory Richards had hired a loyal housekeeper.

"We'd like to speak to you about them," Morales jumped in, leaning as close to the woman as the screen would allow. He smiled, a flash of brilliant white accented by pronounced dimples. "How long have you worked for them?"

Elsa's dark eyes narrowed, tilting her head as she considered the possible harm in answering. The detectives waited patiently, models of calm until the older woman cleared her throat. "Almost nine years," she said softly, the screen door groaning as she pushed it open. "In the beginning, I just worked a few days a week for Mr. Richards. After he married Mrs. Richards and they had their daughter, he asked if I would be willing to increase my hours. My two boys were grown by then, so it worked out."

"That's a long time," he marveled. "It must be a good job."

She nodded. "I can't complain."

"What about their marriage?"

Elsa recoiled at Morales's question, drawing in such a gasp that it filled the sudden silence. Harris stepped forward, placing a restraining touch on her partner's elbow. "Elsa," she began, "we don't want you to feel like you're betraying your employers."

"They're good people," she insisted, her declaration firm.

"Then it must bother you to hear what Mr. Richards has been accused of as of late." She watched as Elsa's eyes darkened and narrowed briefly before she shook her head. This woman wasn't going to break easily.

"Mr. Richards may be a difficult man at times, but he isn't capable of _that_."

"Difficult- how?" Harris asked.

Elsa smirked and tilted her head. "He's difficult in the way that we _all_ can be…even you, Detective."

"My husband would agree with you," Harris replied good-naturedly. "Have Mr. and Mrs. Richards argued lately?"

"That isn't my business."

"Maybe, but you can still overhear something even if you aren't trying to," Morales said helpfully, pulling himself up to all of his six and a half feet. "Did they fight about anything in particular? Mrs. Russell, perhaps?"

Elsa stood quietly, watching the smug detectives before her. She sighed, thinking back over the year of broken glass. Shards from the mirror in the bedroom that was mysteriously shattered one morning. Similar instances of broken vases, crystal glasses and wine bottles. Worse than the glass was the broken spirit of Mrs. Richards in the days before Christmas. And the silence, the painful silence that consumed the entire household. After a long moment, she met their eyes and said quietly, "I really wouldn't know."

A silent look passed between the detectives and Harris turned back to her. "Thank you, Elsa. I think that's all the questions we have for now, but I hope you don't mind if we come back and see you again."

The woman shrugged dismissively, as if she didn't care one way or the other. "Do what you have to do," she muttered, nodding at each of them before stepping back into her home and closing the door tight.

The detectives turned to leave, bright sunshine spilling over them as they walked back to their car. "Thoughts?" Morales asked.

"She knows something. She definitely knows something that she isn't going to give up easily." Harris grimaced, wincing at the swelling that still hadn't gone down since getting between Jack Russell and Gregory Richards. "We just have to figure out if what she's hiding has anything to do with Olivia Richards killing those women."

Morales leaned against the car, his arms on the roof. "We still keeping that quiet?"

"Yes."

"Even from the Chief?"

"_Especially_ from the Chief." She turned around, looking back at the still and quiet home for a long moment. "That woman is on the phone right now calling Gregory Richards. He, and everyone else, needs to think that he is still our prime suspect. If he finds out we've turned our focus to his wife…"

Morales nodded. "Game over."

* * *

The sound of the hushed whispering tickled her, gently nudging her awake with its presence. Olivia inched beneath the warm covers, reluctant to wake even as she opened her eyes. When her vision cleared, she saw Caitlin kneeling on the bench and pointing at the tray her father held. She blinked and leaned up slightly, causing the bed to creak. "What's all this?" she asked as they turned to her voice.

Caitlin skipped over to the bed side, bouncing with excitement. "We made breakfast in bed!"

"You did?" she exclaimed, kissing her daughter's cheek as she climbed into the bed and nestled against her. The mattress shifted as Gregory sat next to them, placing the tray on her lap. She looked up, meeting his eyes for a long moment. The rich brown irises lulled her in and she smiled weakly, drawing strength from them. "You cooked?" she asked softly.

"Of course," he scoffed, uncovering the dish with a flourish. The fluffy pancakes were stacked high, a knob of butter melting into the dusting of powdered sugar. "I lived on these my first year of law school." He passed her a plate, their fingers brushing as they made contact. He smiled, letting his hand linger on the flesh of her hand. "And, I remembered that you liked them the first time I made them for you."

A nostalgic smile warmed her face and she looked up with bashful eyes. Years ago, when everything was new and exciting, he had surprised her this same way the first time she stayed the night in his apartment. Now, with their daughter snuggled in between them, their unborn child moving inside her and the plate of offered pancakes before her, she felt a ripple of fulfillment. A circle had been completed, bringing her to a place both new and familiar.

With the tentativeness of the new lover she once was, Olivia leaned forward and cupped his face. Her lips fluttered against his, like a gentle spring breeze. He sighed against her, surrendering to the small hands cupping his face. She leaned her forehead against his, his hands covering her wrists. "I love you," she whispered, turning her face into his as she inhaled the scent of him.

The catch of his breath was his only audible reply, though she could feel the smile that bloomed on his face. She leaned against him, her head slipping into the nook of his neck and shoulder. Her hand covered his chest, feeling the thump of his heart. He kissed her head, sighing into her hair, "I love you, too."

"Daddy," Caitlin whined, kicking her pajama-clad feet against the silk sheets, "I want a pancake right now!"

He chuckled against her and sat up. Her eyes shone as she cuddled against him, resting her head on his shoulder as he passed their daughter a plate. "I feel so refreshed," she sighed, watching as Gregory poured her tea into a delicate china cup. "I don't think I've slept this well in weeks."

"Probably because it was the first night in weeks that Rick put that mongrel indoors."

Olivia nodded in agreement as they fell into a comfortable silence, feasting on the pancakes in the middle of the king size bed. The sun fell in through the windows, cupping them in a warm beam. She turned, looking through the glass to the flawless sky. The few puffy white clouds sat in a sky that rivaled the blue of a robin's egg. "It looks nice outside," she said softly, feeling Gregory's arm go around her.

He followed her gaze and hugged her a bit closer. "Ready to break free from your confinement?" He felt her stiffen and turn slowly to him. Discomfort wrinkled her face, her blue eyes bright as she considered the thought weighing her down. Her mouth parted in a sigh, a confession dancing on her lips when the phone rang. He frowned, whispering an apology as he reached for the phone. "Hello?"

Olivia sighed, cupping her hands around the piping hot tea cup. Unease consumed her, a painful noose that tightened around her neck. "They came to your home?" she heard him ask and she turned back to him, curious. Caitlin inched forward and stole another pancake from the plate, blissfully unaware of the events unfolding around her. "What else did they ask you about?"

Gregory looked over, meeting his wife's worried gaze. "Thank you, Elsa. I'm very sorry that you've been brought into this. Goodbye." He returned the phone to the receiver and leaned back against the headboard.

"What's wrong with Elsa? Who was at her house?" she asked as Caitlin crawled into her father's lap.

He rubbed his daughter's back, a simple action that held his anger at bay. "Our friends, the detectives, stopped by to ask her a few questions."

Olivia inhaled sharply, the saucer hitting the tray with a loud clink. "About us," she said flatly.

"Yes." His voice mirrored hers, resignation clouding the once pleasant breakfast.

She pushed the tray away and fell back into the pillows, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of all the…" she sighed, shaking her head angrily as words died off. "Is nothing sacred with them? What next? Will they try and talk with my parents?"

"They might," he said quietly as Caitlin squirmed in his lap and sat up.

She scoffed and threw back the covers, the tray shaking as she pushed herself up from the bed. "I'm going to take a bath," she snapped, the hem of her nightgown swishing around the bathroom door before she closed it with a resounding crack.

"Mommy slammed the door," the little girl said solemnly, powdered sugar staining her mouth.

"I know," Gregory sighed, looking at the closed door. "I know."

* * *

Tim Kelly swerved into a spot at the deserted end of the parking lot, the car's brakes squealing. He yanked the parking brake up, letting the car shudder one last time before he turned it off. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, finding a path in the rolls of neck fat. He leaned out the open window, his unruly mass of curls blowing in the dry ocean breeze.

From a distance, he could see a man walk around to the passenger side of his Jaguar and open the door. He watched, with voyeuristic fascination, as the man leaned down and helped his pregnant wife out. Her long hair hugged her face, effectively shielding her from his view.

_No matter_, he thought as they slowly began the arduous walk to the door of the office building. He pulled the plastic top off his coffee cup, inhaling the rich aroma. _I've got all the time in the world_.

* * *

Gregory held Olivia's hand, watching her as she anxiously watched the doctor. Dr. Robinson moved the probe slowly across her stomach, his eyes glued to monitor of the ultrasound machine. "Well?" she asked, a tremor of fear in her question.

"So far, so good," he said slowly, flashing Olivia a reassuring smile. He met Gregory's stare and nodded for further emphasis. He turned back to the screen, pointing at a fuzzy shadow. "See, Mom? Your baby's waving hello."

Olivia managed a weak smile, riveted to the screen as the doctor printed a copy. The black and white image was frozen in time, flickering from the screen. A small arm was raised, the fingers splayed in a greeting as if the baby indeed knew his or her parents were there. "But the baby is fine?" she asked as the nurse wiped the gel from her stomach and pulled the gown down.

Dr. Robinson sat on a stool and rolled over to the exam table as Gregory helped Olivia into a sitting position. "Size and heartbeat are good, development is on track." He flipped open the chart, skimming the vitals that the nurse took before he arrived. "How have the last ten days been?"

Gregory looked up as she swallowed hard and shrugged. He covered her hand and nodded his encouragement. After several beats of silence, the doctor looked back up and Gregory answered, "Not great."

"I see," Dr. Robinson said, closing the chart. "How have you been feeling?"

"Alright, I suppose." Gregory squeezed her hand gently, a silent admonishment that caused her to sigh. "I haven't been sleeping well," she admitted. "I have trouble catching my breath and I'm cold. I'm _always_ cold."

"Any dizziness?" The doctor watched Olivia reluctantly nod and made eye contact with Gregory for a long moment before he looked back up at his patient. "Mrs. Richards, while your blood pressure is somewhat closer to the normal range, I'm sorry to say that it's still higher than I would like."

Olivia sighed and hung her head. A lock of hair fell in her face and she reached up, tucking it behind her ear with a trembling hand. "I know," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

"We'll need to discuss some options and make a decision on how to proceed. We can continue the natural way to lower your blood pressure: lots of rest at home, no stress, a good diet and light exercise." The doctor watched as Olivia leaned into her husband, his arm supportive around her as they listened. "However, there are several medications I feel comfortable prescribing at a mild dosage-"

"Is that dangerous for the baby?" she asked suddenly, her eyes bright as she looked up.

"Dangerous? No. But, like most everything, anything you take can affect your baby."

"I don't want it then."

Gregory's head flew up. "What?"

"I don't." She shook her head and jutted her chin, determined.

"Olivia-"

"_No_." Her eyes hardened, her will making its presence known. Gregory and the doctor watched her throat work, her breath a rasp in the silence. "I've already done enough to jeopardize this pregnancy. I'm _terrified_," she whispered, her chest heaving. She sighed deeply and looked up, meeting the doctor's concerned gaze. "We'll just have to lower it naturally. No medication."

He cleared his throat as Gregory stood and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "Mrs. Richards? What's terrifying you?" She bit her lip and looked away, finding solace in the blank face of the wall. "Mrs. Richards?"

Gregory moved back to the table as Olivia's shoulders began to shake and he heard her choke back a sob. He cupped her shoulders and drew her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "Ev- everything," she gulped, her tears splashing on his arms. He turned, looking to Dr. Robinson.

The doctor rolled around to face her, his expression troubled as he looked up at his patient. Olivia raised her hands to her face, weeping into the sanctuary of her palms. "Mrs. Richards, how long have you felt this way?"

She shook her head, still hiding behind her hands as she curled into the safety of her husband's embrace. "Liv," he whispered, turning her face up as he brushed her cheeks dry. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Olivia grimaced, gasping as his thumbs caressed her face. "I- I couldn't even say it to myself," she confessed, her blue eyes cloudy with unshed tears. Her face fell, tears spilling over. "I've been so frightened since the moment you told me I was pregnant. And now this horrible mess with the police…I won't lose another baby- I _can't_!" she gasped, a flush rising in her throat.

Gregory caught her as she collapsed against him, dissolving into a sob. He cupped the back of her head, feeling her hot tears soaking through the material of his polo. He barely noticed Dr. Robinson roll back from the table and leave the exam room quietly. There would be time, later, to meet with him privately.

He sat on the edge of the exam table, making it easier to pull Olivia to him. She flung her arms around him, gripping him as if her life depended on it. He kissed her forehead and held her close, feeling the furious kicks of their child through her. "Feel that?" he whispered, his mouth even with her ear. He took her hand, covered it with his own and pressed them against her stomach. "That's our baby."

She sniffled, resting her head against his chest. His chest rumbled as he spoke, resonating from deep within him. She closed her eyes, succumbing to the warmth of his hand and the comfort of the child kicking within her. "Nothing will happen to the baby," she heard him say, "because he's strong…like you."

* * *

"And the Prince and Princess lived happily ever after. The end."

"Another!"

Barbara sighed in exasperation and forced a smile to her lips. "Really, lovey? Another story?"

"Yes!" Caitlin exclaimed, skipping up from the sofa to get another book from the pile on the coffee table. "This one!"

"Didn't we read that one already?" she asked, watching as the little girl held the book triumphantly over her head.

"Read it again!"

Her granddaughter's shriek rang like a piercing bell, irritating the headache that throbbed at the base of her skull. "One more," she said firmly, pinching the bridge of her nose, "and then you're going to close your eyes like a good girl and take a nap."

"I don't wanna take a nap!" she whined, flopping back on the sofa and frowning.

"Yes, you do." Barbara opened the book and was poised to begin reading when the doorbell rang. She sighed, handing the book to Caitlin as she stood. "Wait here, lovey."

As she approached the door, she watched the shadow behind the glass and was unable to make out who it was. She reached for the knob with a resigned annoyance, anticipating the arrival of the police that Gregory had warned her was imminent. With a sigh of disgust, she flung open the door, already glaring at the person on the other side. "Yes?" she asked, eyeing the petite blond woman.

"Hi, I'm Ruth Runyon," she explained, her voice a bundle of high-pitched nerves. "I work for Mr. Richards."

"Ah. The secretary?" The young woman nodded as she anxiously pushed her glasses back up her nose. "He and Olivia aren't back from the doctor yet, but he asked me to let you into his study."

"Thank you. I have a lot of work to do." Ruth stepped into the foyer, looking around as if it were her first time seeing it. She looked past Barbara and into the living room, smiling sweetly at the child on the sofa. "Hello, Caitlin."

The little girl looked up, brushing her long hair out of her eyes. "Hi," she said shyly, hiding half of her face behind her storybook.

Ruth watched her for a long moment, her eyes moving from the child to the book and back again. After a moment, she stepped closer to the marble column and peaked out before ducking behind it again. The little girl sat up and lowered the book, revealing a wide grin and two rows of pearly teeth. "See you!" she shouted when Ruth's head appeared again.

Barbara stood back, watching the unfolding scene in a state of confused fascination. An uncomfortable sensation twitched in the pit of her stomach and she sought to place it. Perhaps she was on edge, waiting for yet _another_ visit from Sunset Beach's finest. Or it was her headache, which was now well on its way to becoming a debilitating migraine. Either way, the longer she watched this woman interact with her young granddaughter, the odder she felt. She cleared her throat, smiling politely when the secretary turned around. "I was just taking Caitlin upstairs for her nap," she explained, striding past to take Caitlin by the hand.

"Oh," Ruth said, biting the corner of her lip. "I see."

"But Nana, you said I could have another story!" Caitlin cried, pouting as her grandmother pulled her from the room.

"Of course you can, lovey," Barbara said quickly, her skin crawling as the young woman followed them with her eyes. "But, upstairs in your bedroom. Won't that be fun?"

"No," she muttered, her bottom lip out in full force.

Barbara turned back to Ruth, who still stood silently by the column. "Do you need anything?" she asked, running her hand nervously through her blond curls.

"No, thank you."

And with that, the secretary turned on her heel and walked down the hallway. A moment later, Barbara heard the study door close, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief. She rested her hand on Caitlin's head and smiled down at her granddaughter. "Come along, lovey. Nana needs to lie down."

"But what about my story!"

"You can tell it to me instead." Barbara cast one more look down the hall and, hearing nothing, followed her little granddaughter up the stairs.

* * *

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Gregory nodded, watching his wife through the open blinds of the exam window. "I do," he said, sounding more assured than he felt. But he wouldn't fight his wife, not on this. "Putting her on that medication is going to put her more on edge, even if it does lower her blood pressure."

Dr. Robinson followed his gaze, watching Olivia rest on the exam table. Her chest rose and fell in quick jerks as her fingers twitched nervously. "If there is no change," he began quietly, "or if it gets higher, I'll need to admit her for monitoring and I'll _have_ to put her on a medication."

"It won't come to that."

"Had you suspected she was this frightened of another miscarriage?"

He turned, watching as Olivia's eyes opened and she stared blankly at the ceiling. "We haven't talked about it," he said quietly as he lowered his face, "and maybe that's part of the problem. But I knew it was on her mind, especially when she insisted on not knowing the sex."

"She may want to consider seeing a psychiatrist. They can talk through her fears with her. There are several I can recommend," he offered, even as Gregory began to shake his head.

"I don't think that will be necessary."

Gregory looked back to his wife with such finality that the doctor knew the topic was closed for discussion. Instead, he cleared his throat and said softly, "And, as for the recent events in the papers-"

"You told me to keep that away from her and that's what I'm doing," Gregory snapped, meeting the doctor's concerned eyes. But the conversation that ended breakfast came back to him, the way Olivia's face contorted before she left the bed. The more he tried to protect her from the investigation's fallout, the more it likely it was to end up in her lap and hurt her.

"I wasn't implying that you weren't."

"Weren't you?" He reached for the door, his chest tightening in unrealized fury. "I'm taking my wife home."

Dr. Robinson nodded, watching as Gregory slipped into the room and went to his wife's side. With care, he helped her off the table, his arm going around her waist for support. The doctor held open the door, stepping aside as they passed and nodding courteously. "We'll be starting weekly appointments, Mrs. Richards," he reminded her, looking into her eyes briefly. She nodded blankly, leaning against her husband as she fished a pair of sunglasses out of her purse. "If you need anything-"

"Thank you, Doctor," she said whispered, pushing the dark glasses up on her face.

Gregory rubbed her shoulder as they walked down the hall, passing through the waiting room. "Do you think you can make it to the car?" She nodded, letting him guide her out of the office and into the balmy sunshine. Even in the warmth, she shivered within her sweater and gripped his hand tighter. "It'll be warmer in the car," he assured her, not noticing the heavyset man hurrying up the sidewalk.

"Mr. Richards!" Tim Kelly shouted, his camera bouncing against him from the strap around his neck. "My sources say the D. A. is preparing to indict you for the murder of Cashlin Russell. Any comment?"

"No," he growled, pushing past the meddlesome reporter. He gripped Olivia tighter, her gasp hanging in the air between them. He looked over his shoulder, annoyed to see Tim Kelly hustling after them, his camera raised and clicking. The short distance to the car seemed a lifetime away, Olivia breathing heavily as he rushed her along.

"Mrs. Richards, are you and your husband cooperating with the police?"

"Back off, Kelly!" He forced the key into the passenger door and yanked it open, getting between Olivia and the reporter. The reporter's face was flushed as he held the camera high in the air to get the best possible angle.

"Olivia, how does it feel to know that the father of your children is accused of _murder_?"

Gregory's fist was flying through the air before he knew it, his name on Olivia's shriek as his knuckles crushed the bulbous nose of Tim Kelly. He barely felt the flames shooting up his arm, instead relishing the way the reporter's camera crashed to the ground. Thick rivers of blood gushed down Tim's face, staining his hands and shirt. "Oh, great!" he shouted, choking on the blood that dripped down the back of his throat. "That's just great! You just bought yourself a camera, Richards!"

He turned back to Olivia and reached for her, only to find her whole body trembling uncontrollably. She opened her mouth to speak, but could only manage to croak his name. He cupped her face, his hands running down to her shoulders as he whispered, "I'm sorry." He gently turned her around, guiding her into the passenger seat before he closed the door.

Tim Kelly was kneeling on the ground, holding a handkerchief to his nose as he tilted his head back. "You just made a huge mistake," he sneered, spitting up a clot of blood.

Gregory just stared down at him, reaching into his wallet and tossing several bills onto the ground. The ocean breeze scattered the money, faux tumbleweeds that skipped across the parking lot. "I don't make mistakes," he muttered, turning away with nary a second glance.


	33. The Road to Forgiveness

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 33: "The Road to Forgiveness"

Olivia opened her eyes slowly, the whisper of a dream following her into wakefulness. She sat up slowly, unable to catch her breath as a chill ran down her spine. In her dream… She shook her head, not able to recall the sequence of it, just the feeling. The feeling that unnerved her now. Still.

She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, resting for a moment. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, quick inhalations as her lungs constricted. She looked up, her eyes wide as she gripped the mattress and willed herself calm. As she struggled to control her breathing, she noticed the night sky and moonlight through the break in the curtains. Annoyance momentarily consumed her and she frowned. She hadn't even made it through the night.

With a biting sigh, she pushed herself up, the floor cool beneath her feet. She groped the night stand, feeling for her hair clip. Her long hair hung heavy, weighing down her head and shoulders. Through the darkness, she moved through the bedroom, putting her hair up.

That's when she heard _it_.

She couldn't place what or where it was, but it was there. It was a slight creak, the murmur of concealed breathing. It was the feeling of eyes on her, watching her from the dark shadows. It was in her bedroom.

She froze in the middle of the room, paralyzed. Panic rose in her throat, her lips and throat suddenly dry. Only her eyes moved, darting around the darkness, but finding nothing. It rustled past the bed, the silk sheets whistling against each other. It was moving closer.

Ice dripped into her stomach, her body slipping into atrophy. Her head swam, the inky blackness surrounding her. From behind, eyes bore into her, causing her to tremble. It slithered across the room, the wood floor creaking. A sickly breath tickled the bare nape of her neck, her terrified heart slowing to a near stop.

Her unborn child stirred, turning in utero and jolting his mother back to life. She moved forward, its fingers skimming across her back as she fled. The bedroom door was heavy as she flung it open, stumbling down the darkened hallway.

"G- Gregory!" she screamed, her voice returning as she hurried to the stairs. From behind her, she heard its footsteps chasing after her. "Gregory!"

But her swollen feet and pregnant stomach hindered her, stalling her escape. A wicked cackle exploded around her, her skin crawling as something latched around her wrist. Holding her back. Capturing her. "GREGORY!"

"Gregory!" she gasped, lurching awake as her eyes flew open. Bright sunlight streamed in through the open windows, a gentle breeze stirring the curtains. She scrambled up, her nightgown drenched with sweat. With her hands pressed to her shuddering chest, she turned to her husband's side of the bed, only to find it empty.

Slowly, she reached out, pulling his pillow to her chest. She inhaled deeply, the scent of him on the pillow as her eyes filled with tears. "Gregory," she whispered again, burying her face into the material, a poor substitute for the solace she sought.

* * *

Gregory sighed, his daughter squirming in his arms as the chime of the bell echoed from the other side of the door. "Just one, Daddy? Please?" she asked, holding the bakery box to her nose.

"Not yet." He glanced down at the box and forced a smile for his daughter's sake. "I need them."

"For what?"

"A peace offering," he muttered to himself as the door swung open.

"Gregory!" Dr. John Davis exclaimed, a warm beam of welcome on his face. "What a surprise!"

"Good morning, John. I know it's early-"

"No, no. Come in." He gestured them in, chucking Caitlin's chin affectionately. "We're just having breakfast."

Gregory set Caitlin on the ground, whispering, "Go give Aunt Bette the doughnuts." She took off across the tile, her blond hair streaming behind her like a ribbon.

John met Gregory's eyes as he stood and smiled sadly. "Bribery?"

"You know your wife. I also figured she wouldn't refuse to see me if I came with Caity."

John sighed and led Gregory into the living room. From the open patio doors, they had an unobstructed view of Caitlin sitting in Bette's lap, already munching on one of the fresh glazed treats. "Bette needs better coping mechanisms. It boils down to this: she's terrified. She's worried about Olivia…and you."

"Me?" he scoffed, watching the woman and young girl chattering excitedly.

"She'd never admit it, but yes. She's worried about the both of you." He glanced down at his slippers and said quietly, "We saw the news last night." He heard Gregory sigh and he looked up. Torment waved across the other man's face and he couldn't help but pity him. But Gregory Richards was not a man who would accept pity from anyone. "Is Olivia alright?" he asked quietly.

"She's…" he trailed off, searching for a word that would describe his wife. But, he found there wasn't any word that even came close to the anguish Olivia was living. After the fiasco at the doctor's office, she floated through the remainder of the day in a fog, barely speaking in full sentences. She ended up back in their bed, as if she was still on the enforced restriction. Not speaking. Not looking at him. Just staring sadly into the shadows, her eyes full and shining with unshed tears. "She's not well," he said finally, his voice cracking noticeably.

John looked away as Gregory cleared his throat, hearing the pain in his voice. "If she ever needs a professional to speak with-"

"Thank you, John." Gregory regained his armor and turned to him. "If you don't mind, I really need to speak with Bette."

"Of course." He gestured him through the doorway, but couldn't help adding, "The same offer extends to you, as well." Gregory glanced over his shoulder, an odd look on his face before he nodded shortly. "Tell Bette I'll be in my study when you're through."

Gregory waited until John left before he stepped through the shadows of the palm trees. The redhead's hair caught on the sun, her head thrown back as she laughed at something his daughter said. With a sigh, he crossed the deck, his footsteps causing two sets of eyes to look up at him. "Good morning, Bette."

"Gregory." Her one word hung between them, icy like the eyes that quickly appraised him. After a moment though, her eyes fell and she looked pointedly at the chair across the table from her. "Sit. Please."

He obliged her request, sinking into the sun-warmed cushion. "How are the doughnuts?" he asked.

"Delicious," she said, unable to hide a grin as she dunked one in her coffee and took a bite. Caitlin smiled over at him, pushing her hair out of her face as she inhaled her own doughnut. "Imagine my surprise," she continued after she swallowed, "when I saw this little angel skipping across with them."

"They're Daddy's pieces offer," Caitlin interjected helpfully, a crumb falling from her mouth.

"What was that, Sweetie?"

"Caity, why don't you go play on the swing?" Gregory suggested, meeting Bette's gaze. "I need to talk with Aunt Bette."

"Ok!" she said, sliding off and clattering down the wooden stairs to the grass. He watched her until she was safely away before he turned to Bette.

"Is Olivia alright?"

He heard the fear in Bette's question and saw the panic brimming in her eyes. A chill went through him as he realized she was a mirror image of him in that moment. "John said you saw the news, so you know what happened yesterday."

Her face turned, a snarl curling her mouth as her eyes narrowed. "Tim Kelly," she growled, shredding the remaining half of the doughnut with her fingers. "If ever a man deserved to burn in Hell…"

"Kelly was the last thing she needed yesterday. He ambushed us as we were leaving the doctor's office, shouting all kinds of things at her."

"That silly woman on Channel 4 said you broke his nose," Bette said softly, watching his lips curl into a satisfied smirk. "Good for you."

"He's lucky I didn't kill him," he muttered before he glanced up quickly, realizing what he said. But, Bette's face was blank, not speaking of the other murder he was accused of. "Listen, Bette, we need to talk. I know that I'm the reason you and Olivia haven't spoken for the last few weeks."

"Gregory-"

"Please." She nodded, biting her tongue as he sighed. "She needs you. Regardless of how you feel about me, you're her closest friend in the world." He watched her eyes fall, wringing her hands. "You knew her before I did. I'd never forgive myself if I was the cause of your friendship ending."

"What do you want?" she asked quietly.

"Just…be her friend. She needs one more than ever. And, since she won't or can't talk to me," he said quietly, "she needs someone. She needs _you_."

"Gregory-"

"Bette, she's- I'm losing her," he confessed, a whisper of honesty that stung like a bolt of lightening. Bette's eyes melted, her mouth tightening to a thin line as he leaned closer to her. "The strain of it all; it's killing her." He sighed, clearing his throat as he looked off into the horizon. "The police and the murder investigation, Tim Kelly and now…"

"What?"

"The baby."

She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Did something-"

"No. But, she's terrified something will."

Bette sighed, shaking her head sadly. "She can't go through that again." She looked up, seeing the strain in Gregory's jaw. "Neither of you can."

"Forget me. It's Olivia I'm worried about." A pair of seagulls flew overhead, their elongated shadows painting the wood deck. He felt her eyes on him, worried in the silence. Finally turning back to her, he continued, "She's the only one that matters." She nodded, a mournful sigh escaping her lips. "This may be asking a lot, but would you and Elaine plan her baby shower? Barbara and Thomas are staying in town a few extra weeks; I know they'll help."

"Has she-"

"No." He shook his head, looking down at the ground. "I don't think she can let herself get excited about the pregnancy. Everything's changed in the last few days. She's too afraid of-" He cleared his throat, unable to speak of the fear haunting his wife. Haunting him. "I'm hoping the baby shower will help. So will finishing the nursery. It'll give her something to look forward to."

Bette sat quietly for a long moment before she nodded. "I'll call Lainie," she said simply. She met his gaze, her blue-green eyes simmering. "But know this, Greggy: the road to forgiveness is long." Leaning up, her words came quick as a deep flush discolored her throat. "You know, I always believed in you and Olivia, especially when my first two marriages fell apart. You two were so happy, so in love…you two made believe _it_ was possible. That the love stories of fairy tales were true. Never in a thousand years would I have thought it possible for you to betray her."

"Is that all?" he asked tightly, standing.

"No." She stood abruptly, causing the table to shake and the contents on it to clatter. With an accusing finger, she poked him in the chest, her words low. "Do you know what Olivia once said to me?" She continued, not giving him a moment to respond. "It was after you proposed. She came over and she was brimming with happiness, gushing this and that about you. I could barely get her to sit still long enough to show me the ring." She smiled to herself, remembering her friend's infectious excitement. "She put her hand over her heart and said it finally felt whole." With a sad frown, she delivered her final blow, "Do you think it's still whole? After everything?"

He flinched, gripping the back of the chair. As quickly as her words came, that's how quickly they died off, heavy breathing filling the sudden quiet. Bette sighed and turned away, resting on the railing of the deck. A dark and ugly feeling twisted low in his soul. The road to forgiveness _was_ long. And it was suddenly clear that he was no closer to forgiving himself than Bette was.

* * *

Barbara sat quietly, her coffee mug a breath away from her lips. Across the table, her daughter sat quietly, half-heartedly pushing her food around her plate. Not saying a word. Not looking at her. She cleared her throat, setting her mug down as she held out a serving bowl of mixed fruit. "Why don't you have some?" Her daughter shook her head and she sighed, determined to try again. "The blackberries are good for you."

The fork hit the plate with a loud clink and Olivia looked up sharply. "Please don't tell me what's good for me."

"Olivia-" she sputtered, gently lowering the glass bowl to the table. "Love, I wasn't- I mean, I only- I just-"

Olivia sat back, listening to her mother dance around a reply. It had been that way since yesterday. Everyone dancing around her, walking on eggshells. No one looking her in the eye. Her mouth tightened as she drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "Mummy, stop." She raised her hand to her head, massaging her throbbing temple. "Just stop," she muttered as she pushed her plate away.

The doorbell rang, the chime echoing all the way to kitchen table where they sat. Neither moved though. Olivia never took her eyes off her mother, staring intently until she looked up. Fear clouded Barbara's normally bright blue eyes, dulling them significantly. She sighed and sat up, pressing her hands into her aching lower back. She had been uncomfortable since she woke and she shivered, recalling the nightmare. How she had screamed for Gregory, desperately wanting to run into the safety of his arms, both in the dream and reality. But, he wasn't there. He was still gone, a short note promising that he and Caitlin wouldn't be gone long.

"Olivia," Barbara began, reaching out across the table when the kitchen door swung open.

"Look who I found!" Thomas exclaimed, missing the tension between his wife and daughter. They looked up slowly, twin eyes turning up to meet him. Barbara stood slowly, eyeing the petite blonde woman standing nervously behind her husband. "I must tell Gregory he's working this young lady too hard. She hasn't even had breakfast!"

He stepped aside, gesturing Ruth in. She nodded, feeling the way Barbara's eyes moved over her. "So, I invited her to have something to eat. Gregory won't mind," she heard him say as she turned her attention to Olivia, who barely looked up.

"He's and Caitlin are still out," she said softly, bracing her hands on the table as she pushed herself up. "Please, sit," she murmured, gesturing to the empty seat at the head of the table. Gregory's seat. "If you'll excuse me."

Thomas extended his hand, leading Olivia from the kitchen. "I'll help you upstairs," he offered, causing her hand to tremble.

"No!" She shivered, not able to face the bedroom right now. Not without Gregory. She turned to her father, bracing against him as her legs tingled. "The patio."

He fingered her cheek gently as he smiled. "The sunshine will do you some good. Bring some color back." He wrapped his arm around her, squeezing gently as she leaned into him. "That's a girl."

* * *

I saw down, my hands curling over the arm of the chair. Triumph coursed through me, the wood cool beneath my fingers. Today the kitchen, tomorrow the house. I would conquer it all as the new Mrs. Gregory Richards. _She_ knew the truth. It was inevitable. She fled the moment I arrived, unable to remain in my presence. She knew.

I looked around, observing the view from the head of the table. Soon, I would be lady of the manor. The queen of his life. This would all be mine. Him, the children, everything.

Across the table, her mother cleared her throat. Her blue eyes flickered over me, watching very carefully. She could stare to her heart's content. It wouldn't change anything. They would all be gone the moment the baby was here, leaving Gregory and I alone with our little family.

Did she know? Had her daughter told her, a tearful confession in the dark? I sat back, the chair creaking slightly. Yes, it was only a matter of time. Why else would he ignore me, pretend that I didn't exist? It was the only thing that made sense. The only thing that would explain his treatment of me. Our baby would be here soon. Then we would be a true family in every sense of the word.

"It was kind of my husband to invite you for breakfast," she said softly, never taking her eyes off me. I nodded, reaching for the unused mug and the carafe of hot coffee. She couldn't stand that I would be replacing her daughter in this house, in Gregory's heart. She would be one of the first to leave, second only to her daughter.

We would a family

Gregory, the father. Caitlin and the new baby, our children.

And me, the loving wife and mother.

Our family.

Forever.

* * *

Gregory followed his daughter into the house, closing the door softly. He leaned against the door, sighing heavily as he listened to her scampering upstairs. Bette's words affected him far deeper than he ever would have admitted. She was one of the few people never afraid to speak her mind to him. She never sugarcoated _anything_ with him.

Worse still was that fact that she was right. About everything. Forgiveness was a long way away, a deserted road filled with sharp curves and unexpected drops. He pushed away from the door and turned down the hall to his study. If he could scarcely stand to forgive himself, how could Olivia?

He shook his head, rubbing his exhausted face. A painful truth rose within him, one that he had always suppressed when it reared its head. He wasn't good enough for her. He never had been. She once admitted that she wasn't good enough for him, decidedly from the poorer end of the middle class, the daughter of a school teacher and a cook. He stopped abruptly, his hand on the knob of his study door. For the life of him, he couldn't remember his response to her confession.

He slowly opened the study door, standing still for a long moment. His secretary sat on the sofa, sorting through a large stack of depositions. Her white-blonde hair caught the sunlight, causing a halo to glow around her head. "Did I ask you to work today?" he asked quietly. Yet another thing he suddenly couldn't remember.

Ruth jumped, a sheaf of documents falling to the floor as her hand leapt to her chest. "Oh, you scared me!" she exclaimed, chuckling nervously as she stooped to pick up the papers. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked, coming around his desk and sinking into the armchair. "I scared you."

She shrugged, standing slowly as she tugged her pale pink cardigan around her petite frame. "You did ask me to come," she reminded him, gesturing to the stacks on his desk. "I've sorted nearly all of the depositions you'll need for court next week."

"Thanks," he said. She held out a bundle of mail and he eyed it warily before taking it from her. He tossed it aside and leaned back, exhaling deeply. "Let's call it a day, Ruth."

She narrowed her eyes, resting her hand atop the tallest stack. "Are you sure? I've still got the evidence packages to prepare and you said you-"

"Not today." He smiled tiredly and waved her away. "Pretend you were never here and consider it a paid day off."

She paused, watching him for a long moment before she nodded. "Thank you," she said softly, reaching for her worn leather handbag on the chair. "Have a good day."

He waited until she left, the door closed firmly behind her before he reached for the mail. The thick bundle was heavy in his lap and he thumbed through it, ignoring the usual correspondence until a letter made him stop in his tracks.

A pale pink envelope.

Another one.

Gregory reached for the silver letter opener, slicing into it with abandon as he grimaced. The matching stationery was thin, angry blood red ink scrawled across the face of the page.

_I've been near you, but you never notice me._

_Now, I understand why. You can't let her know. Soon, we'll be together and happy, our children by our side. _

_We'll have the most wonderful life. She'll be gone forever and we'll be together. _

_Always._

His hands tightened, bending and twisting the paper. The words danced together, the red blurring together as he forced himself to read it again. And again. And again.

The paper tore and he dropped it on the leather blotter, pink against the forest green. He reached for the phone, dialing a familiar number. It rang, the drone low in his ear before it stopped abruptly and he heard a gruff voice. "_Stanton here_."

He lowered his head into his free hand and said softly, "Another letter."

"When?"

"Now. Mixed in with the mail, just like all the others." He paused, his throat tight and dry before he said, "She's threatened Olivia."

Stanton barely skipped a beat. "I'm on my way."

* * *

It was normally a twenty-five minute drive from Morris Stanton's middle class neighborhood to the affluent Ocean Avenue. Today, he made the trip in just under fifteen minutes. He slammed his car into park and rushed up to the house, Elsa standing in the open doorway. She waved him in and gestured down the hall to the study.

Gregory was sitting in the chair behind his desk, his hands tight on the arms. Stanton closed the door behind him and stood in front of the desk. "Where is it?" He watched his friend's head tilt slightly and he looked down. A battered rectangle of pink lay in the center of the desk and he reached for down, holding it by the corner. "How many times did you read it?"

He looked up slowly, his dark eyes hollow. "_I've been near you, but you never notice me. Now, I understand why_," he recited dryly, his face turning. "_You can't let her know. Soon, we'll be together and happy, our children_-" He broke off as he stood, reaching for the piece of hand blown glass on his desk. The smooth glass was cool in his hands before he hurled it at the ground, shards exploding around his feet. "Our children?" he snarled, turning on Stanton with wild eyes. "How the hell has it gotten this far?"

Stanton sat, riveted to the letter as he read it for a second time. "Where is Olivia right now?"

The glass crunched beneath the soles of Gregory's feet as he stalked around the desk. "On the patio with her father," he snapped, running his hand wildly through his hair as he began to pace. "Quit everything. I'm hiring you exclusively. Olivia doesn't leave your sight."

"Gregory-"

His hand came down on the desk, barely registering the icy shock that went up his arm. "Damnit, Morris! Did you read the same letter I did? _She'll be gone forever and we'll be together_. What the hell else can that mean?"

He stood, dropping the letter back on the desk. "I'm your man," he said quietly. "You know that. Of course, I'll surrender my other cases." He sighed, glancing down at the floor before back up at his friend. "It's time that we considered bringing the police in."

"The police? Are you kidding me? I've got them breathing down my neck, trying to nail me for Cashlin's murder."

"The letters-"

"Don't prove anything. They'll never stand up in a court of law. We've got no proof that the writer killed Cashlin, only innuendo. Hell, we don't even know who wrote them." His eyes hardened to a dangerous glint. "How can that be?"

Stanton shook his head, truly at a loss. "There's no trail. It's generic stationery that you can find in dozens of stores in the southern California area. No postage mark. No prints. She's been undetected in your home at least once. It's as if…" he trailed off.

"What?"

"She's a ghost," he said quietly, watching as Gregory shook his head.

"Bull. Someone knows something. Monitor the mail. Monitor the house."

"We're doing that. There's nothing there."

"Jesus, Morris! Do I need to wait until she does to Olivia what she did to Cashlin in order for you to get your men in gear?" He spun away from the desk, his hands trembling with rage.

"She's getting in some other way," he said simply. He reached for the note and turned to Gregory. "_I've been near you, but you never notice me_. I know that from somewhere," he said, almost to himself, before he looked up. "What does that mean to you?"

"Seriously?" He thought for a minute and shrugged. "It means nothing."

"To me," he began, passing Gregory the note, "it sounds like you've seen her. This is someone you've talked to. Interacted with, maybe even on a daily basis." He watched as the other man's face turned. "You know her."

"We looked at everyone-"

"We looked broadly because we didn't know _what_ to look for. We'll look again but with a tighter perimeter. You haven't been into your office since-"

"Since Olivia was put on bed rest," Gregory continued, folding the note and putting it back in the envelope. "I've been working out of here."

"Who's been with you?"

"My secretary, Ruth. A few of the clerks have been in and out. Some couriers to pick up and deliver parcels."

"We'll start there." He nodded when Gregory eyed him suspiciously. "Narrow it down to the women. Now that we've got a smaller field, get me writing samples." The other man nodded, reaching for the ornate puzzle box in the corner of his desk. "You still keeping them there?"

Gregory nodded, slipping the pink envelope in with the rest. "Except for the one I flushed in the heat of the moment."

"Do you think," he began slowly, already knowing the answer, "that you should tell Ol-"

"Absolutely not. This is the _last_ thing in the world she needs right now." He locked the box and turned back to him. "I meant what I said. Olivia doesn't leave your sight. You're the only one I can trust to watch her."

Stanton nodded. Olivia Richards and her unborn child were in his charge now. The enormity of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks as Gregory continued, "I'm trusting you with her life."

"Like I said before, I'm your man."

Gregory smiled, but not one of relief. "I'm going to tell her it's because of Tim Kelly."

"You don't want him or any other reporters getting near her," he added, drawing his own conclusions.

He sighed deeply, a piece of glass popping under him as he walked to the door. "Let's get this over with." Stanton followed him down the hall and through the living room to the patio. "She's going to hate feeling like a prisoner, especially after being on bed rest for the last ten days."

"She's always liked me."

Gregory stepped out into the late morning sunshine, tasting a salty breeze. "That was before you were going to be watching her every second." He strode across the stone patio, seeing Caitlin in the pool with her grandfather. Olivia sat on the lounge chair, watching them quietly. "Liv?"

She looked up slowly, meeting her husband's concerned gaze. "I didn't even know you were back until Caity came outside."

"I'm sorry," he said, sinking to the chair as he took her hand. " Morris and I had something to take care of." He looked pointedly at Stanton, who knelt to kiss Olivia's cheek.

"How you feeling?" he asked, smiling widely.

She shrugged as he sat on the lounge next to her and Gregory. "As well as can be expected. How are Valerie and Maya?"

"Good, good. Valerie sends her love." He met Gregory's eyes and nodded.

"Liv, I've asked Morris for a favor. He's going to be looking after you…until this mess with the police is over."

"Looking after me?" She looked from her husband, to Morris and then back again. "I'm not a child like Maya or Caity. I don't need 'looking after'."

"I know that," he insisted, his thumb running over her knuckles. "We both do. But after yesterday, I don't want any reporter getting near you." Her eyes fell and she paled, causing him to squeeze her hand gently. "He's just going to make sure you're safe here at home and everywhere else."

Olivia's face wrinkled and Stanton leaned in, touching her other hand. "It was either me or Valerie. She saw the news last night and nearly busted the TV after she heard what Tim Kelly did. He's probably safer this way."

It had the desired effect. She smiled and looked up, a spark of her old sense of humor returning for the briefest of moments. "I always was fond of your wife," she replied as Stanton squeezed her hand and Gregory smiled.

* * *

After seeing Stanton out, Gregory went back out to the patio. Olivia was still on the lounge chair, but she was alone. "Where did your father go?" he asked, scanning the brush at the perimeter. For whom, he didn't know, but he knew she was out there.

She looked up, shading her eyes against the sun as he came around to stand in front of her. "He took Caity down to the beach. She got tired of the pool."

"With all that activity, she should sleep well tonight," he murmured. He was turning to the beach to look for them when he saw the way Olivia's face turned. "What's wrong?"

She leaned back, surrendering to the warm cushion. "Nothing. I just- I didn't sleep well last night."

"I know." With a sigh, he opened the large umbrella, casting a cool shadow over her before he sat down. Bracing his arms on either side of her legs, he continued, "You tossed and turned for hours.

She bit her lip, his arm resting against her leg. "I had a nightmare." He watched her quietly, her hand twitching nervously. He reached out and gently covered it, giving a comforting squeeze. "I was in our bedroom. It was dark. Something was there, following me." Her hand trembled and he sat up as she bore down on his hand. "It chased me. I ran, calling out for you…" Her eyes were shiny and full as she shook her head. "But, you weren't there. And then, I woke up and I was alone. I wanted you and…"

He lay next to her on the lounge, gathering her in his arms. "I'm here now," he whispered, closing his eyes and seeing nothing but red ink on pink paper. "I'll never let anything happen to you."

She turned her face into his chest, surrendering to the safe embrace of his arms. "I haven't been able to go back into bedroom all morning," she admitted, his hand following the curve of her spine.

He hushed her, softly rubbing her back. "It's going to alright," he murmured, opening his eyes as he looked off into the distance. "Everything's going to be alright." She was quiet against him and he looked down, gently turning her face up. "You know that, right?"

She was silent, watching him with wide eyes. "I just- I want…things to be the way they used to be." She rested her head against his shoulder, his arm going tighter around her. "When our biggest worry was deciding who was going to paint the mural in the nursery. When the whole town didn't know our private lives. When the police didn't think you-"

"Let me worry about that. All of it," he clarified, kissing her forehead as her arm stretched across his chest. "Sooner or later, the police are going to realize they have no proof of anything. Some new scandal will break and the nosy citizens of Sunset Beach will be prying into that soon enough." He heard her sigh and he changed course slightly, rubbing her arm. "Did we decide who would paint the mural?"

Olivia shook her head. "No. All the proposals are on the table in the living room."

"Well," he sighed, standing slowly with his hand extended, "let's look them over and decide." When she started to shake her head, he crouched before her. "I know you're scared." She lowered her head, her hair falling forward to hide her face. He reached up, tucking the long waves back. "Olivia?"

With a sigh, she slowly raised her face, her lip quivering. "I'm a mess," she murmured, wiping her eyes as she sniffed.

"No," he corrected, reaching out to take her hand. "Just someone who tries so hard to be strong for everyone else that she forgets about herself." He stood and pulled her up, putting his arms around her. Her firm belly pressed into him, making it hard to hug her to him the way he used to. "Our baby will be here in less than two months. I know you're scared about the baby," he said again, cupping her face. "I- I am too."

Her eyes flickered up to his, her mouth set in a grim line. "Really?" she asked quietly.

Gregory nodded, knowing there was no one else he could admit that truth to. To the rest of the world, they could think him strong, ruthless, even a killer. But to her, and only to her, he could just be a father worried about his unborn child. "But this baby will come home and when he or she does, the nursery needs to be ready. Otherwise, he or she will guilt us for years to come. 'But, Mom and Dad,' he exclaimed, 'I only snuck out because you never had a proper nursery for me when I was a baby'."

She giggled and leaned against him, brushing her hair over one shoulder. "They say the second child is more lively and spirited than the firstborn."

"Lively and spirited? That sounds like code words for a mischievous little troublemaker."

"Troublemaker? A child of ours? Never." As he led her indoors, she winced and stopped short. "Feel," she said, taking his hand and guiding it to her stomach. "Dad may get his athlete grandchild after all. He or she is going to town on my ribs."

"Well, there you go. Now you've got something to guilt the baby with when it's older." She laughed and stepped into the house. He stood in the door, watching as she collapsed onto the sofa and stretched out. She leaned back until she could see him and smiled. "Darling, the sketches are over there," she said, pointing to the table just beyond her reach.

"Coming, Liv," he replied, bracing his hand on the doorjamb. He listened as she got comfortable, squirming on the cushions and propping a pillow beneath her back. Her fear would subside, ebbing and flowing like the tide. The baby would be fine. She would be fine. Of that, he would be sure. But, his fear… His fear had only just begun.


	34. Control

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 34: "Control"

"You're here early."

Stanton looked up from his place on the sofa, the newspaper crinkling as he lowered it. Over the edge, he watched Olivia slowly come down the stairs, gripping the banister. He smiled widely and stood, coming across the living room to meet her. "Well, I was told-"

"That I haven't been sleeping well?" she suggested, her eyebrow arched.

"-you've been getting up early."

"Ah, so now you're a diplomat."

"Something like that."

She sighed, wrapping her sweater around her. "What else did Gregory tell you?"

He looked down at her, her pale face offset by her blue eyes. "Just that I'm not supposed to get in your way."

With a chuckle, she sank into the sofa, shoving a pillow behind her back. "That was nice of him," she murmured, closing her eyes and wincing at a particularly sharp jab.

Stanton returned to the opposite end of the sofa, folding his newspaper slowly. "He's just worried about you."

Her eyes opened slowly and she turned her head to look at him. "I know that," she replied softly, her breath catching in her throat. She truly did know that. He may have said she was the one trying to be strong for everyone, but really it was him. It had _always_ been him. He would bear the brunt of everything, never letting her know the true extent of his worry or fear. "Morris?" She waited until he looked up before she asked, "Has he said anything to you about…anything?"

He sat up, leaning over his knees as he considered her question. "Well," he began, causing Olivia to sit up.

"You know what he's like." She reached out, touching his hand. "He's so worried about me, but I'm worried about him." He nodded and she sighed, explaining, "He tells me to let him handle everything, but at what price? He never thinks about himself-"

"He just thinks about you," he concluded and she nodded. "You know your husband."

"Yes…I do." She shook her head and looked down, her swollen fingers meriting the loss of her wedding rings. Gregory helped her pry them off last night, against her better argument as he lathered her flesh with soap. She wiggled her fingers, feeling somewhat naked without the heft of her rings on her left hand. "That's what worries me. You never met his father, did you?"

Stanton's face turned and he said slowly, "Never had the misfortune."

"Nor did I." Olivia leaned back and exhaled deeply, her cheeks puffing out in such a way that suggested breathing took some effort. "He's been out of Gregory's life for so long, but sometimes I feel…that he's never really left. That Bruce is this dark cloud that follows him around…haunting him."

"I think our man made his peace with his father long ago."

"Did he?" She smiled sadly, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. "These last few weeks, when I look at him, sometimes I see this darkness. He wants to fix everything and he can't." She closed her eyes, remembering the way he was on New Year's when Cashlin commanded the show at the masquerade ball. The rage that burned in his eyes, the way his hands trembled. "When something doesn't go the way he's planned, he feels like a failure. Deep down, he still hears his father's voice when that happens."

He sat quietly, listening to Olivia's diagnosis. The topic of Bruce Richards had come up only once during their undergraduate days, a liquor induced confession that made the brilliant and confident young student an exposed nerve. He shook his head, recalling the bitterness in Gregory's voice as he spoke briefly about the cruel man who raised him. "You know what I learned in boot camp before I shipped out to 'Nam? When surrounded by the opposition, divide and conquer. That's all our man is doing: dividing his attention and conquering."

"One man doesn't divide evenly," she muttered, turning back to him.

"Well," Stanton suggested, reaching out to squeeze her hand, "I guess that's why he has us. Whether or not he admits he needs us. What did Nixon once say? Something about the silent majority?

She groaned, a small smile lighting up her face. "Like I said, Morris the diplomat. Have you considered running for office?"

"Nah. I'm too honest. Though I think our old housemate George Bellaris will be hitting Greg and I up for campaign donations sooner than later." He chuckled, letting her hand go to retrieve the paper. "So, what's the plan for today? I'm at your beck and call."

"Nothing special." She sat quietly for a moment, thinking. "Tell me, how does this normally work? This…"

"Personal protection," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. "It's simple: you don't leave the house without me. Let me know when you have to go out. I'll answer the front door, leave the phones to Elsa. Basically, I'm a butler, chauffeur, bodyguard and, according to Val, an excellent holder of shopping bags and purses." She laughed softly, a low sound that came from deep in her throat. "Ok?"

She nodded. "Ok."

He gestured to his paper and leaned back. "I'll be here. Just let me know when you need me."

She nodded again as she pushed herself up. "Have you seen Gregory?"

"Briefly. His secretary came over at the same time I did and they disappeared into the study."

"Yes," she nodded, looking briefly over her shoulder in the direction of his office. "He has a trial starting next week." She forced a smile to her lips and said, "I suppose it's nice that given everything, his workload never changes."

* * *

"You tell Chief Briscoe to call me," Gregory snapped, the phone glued to his ear. "Tell him to call me and tell me personally that I'm being charged with assault. I want to hear Briscoe ram his foot down his mouth myself."

He rolled his eyes, listening to the urgency pouring out of the handset. In a world seemingly spiraling out of control, his study was his domain. In it, he was lord, master and able to conquer anything. Almost anything. "Say again? I know the last thing you want is for me to take this matter public. Tim Kelly has been making inflammatory comments about me for weeks, but he had absolutely no business getting near my wife. There's not a husband in southern California who would disagree with me."

Ruth looked over slowly, turning away from the two clerks she was checking depositions with on the sofa. He caught her eye and shook his head apologetically, lowering his voice as he turned in his chair. "Make sure that Briscoe knows I filed not only a restraining order against Kelly on behalf of my wife, but that I am petitioning the court to place an injunction on anything he writes about her."

He stood triumphantly, the voice on the other end of the growing weaker. "Tell Briscoe to think long and hard which side of this issue the voters will be on: the pregnant victim's or the overzealous tabloid reporter's? I'll keep this in the news cycle all the way to November, right in time for his re-election. Do give him my regards, won't you?" He slammed the phone down, exhaling heavily.

His fist balled, the bones of his hand cracking. The whispers from his staff swirled behind him, hushed in the tense silence. He sat with his back to them, staring morosely into the distance. Off to his left, the puzzle box sat in the corner of his desk, the letter inside screaming for his attention. He studiously ignored them, their fervent pleas falling on deaf ears.

He closed his eyes, the vision of Olivia dancing through his mind. The heaviness of her eyes, the sad lilt of her voice, the depressed slump of her shoulders. He could have Stanton watch her every minute of the day, ensuring she was protected from the mystery author of the pink letters. Physically, she would be safe. But emotionally… She was slowly unraveling, a fine thread that was fraying at the edges. He could reassure her for a moment, take her hands and whisper that everything would be alright.

But, he didn't know that.

He couldn't.

Despite his promises, he couldn't fix this for her. Not this. _Never_ this.

Gregory's eyes opened slowly, the irises expanding in rage. He had no control. He was powerless. His fist cracked and his face twisted as the sick feeling of helplessness coursed through him. Control was the one thing he wanted. _Needed_. He needed it like his body needed oxygen to function.

And, like a cruel mistress, it was the one thing denied to him.

* * *

"I think this is going to be really spectacular, Mrs. Richards." The young artist smiled at Olivia as she wiped the chalk smudges from her fingerprints. "It's simple but engaging. Your child will be able to grow with it for years."

"Until he or she grows up and decides that the animals are for babies," she murmured, turning her attention to her curious four year old. "Caitlin, don't touch the paint samples." The child jumped back, a whisper of guilt in her seemingly innocent expression as she darted to her mother's side. "How long do you think it will take?"

The artist turned back to the wall, her eyes moving over the rough chalk sketch. "I work around your schedule," she explained, watching the way afternoon sunlight fell on the pearl white paint and caused it to sparkle. "If I can get in six solid hours a day, I can be done in a week." She took one last look at the swirling menagerie of animals she would give life to and smiled. "Maybe ten days, at the very most."

Olivia nodded, reaching out to catch her daughter's hand as it danced near the box of worn chalk stubs. "Caity, stop," she hissed, pulling her antsy daughter back to her side. "Wonderful," she said to the artist, turning her attention back to her. "You can start tomorrow?"

The young woman nodded, eagerly reaching for her new employer's hand to shake it enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. Thank you so much for this commission, Mrs. Richards! It's my first one since graduating art school and my father said that if I didn't make something of my degree, I'd have to come back to Pensacola and work at my family's hotel, which I'd rather die than do. Of course," she quickly said, seeing the way Olivia's eyes lit up with amusement, "you probably didn't need to know all that." She chuckled nervously and bent down, returning her jars of paint and brushes back to her case.

"Well, my husband and I were very impressed with the proposal you submitted."

Caitlin looked up and tugged on her mother's hand, her blue eyes wide. "I want a picture in _my_ room too," she pouted, her lower lip puffing out.

"We'll see." She waited until the artist had packed up her belongings and stood before she took a deep breath and said, "So, tomorrow then?"

"Absolutely. Thank you again so much, to you and Mr. Richards both." She looked past Olivia and to the doorway, her eyes widening. "I'm so sorry! You shouldn't have let me ramble on if you were expecting company."

Olivia's blue eyes narrowed in confusion as she turned around, her lips parting in surprise. Elaine stepped into the nursery, her red hair glistening as she smiled widely, Bette a step behind her. "I wasn't expecting you…either of you," she said softly, feeling Bette's eyes on her.

"Surprise!" Elaine said happily, reaching out to enfold her in a hug. She cupped her face, smoothing the dark hair back and explained, "We're here to celebrate the end of your bed rest!"

"What?" she asked, unable to take her eyes off Bette, who simply smiled.

"I'll let myself out," the artist said quietly, waving goodbye as she left.

"Thank you," Olivia called out as she turned back to her friends, a long beat of silence hanging between them. "I really wasn't expecting this."

"Of course you weren't. That's why it's a surprise," Elaine explained, squeezing her hand. "And lunch is on us."

She shook her head, looking from one friend to the other. "No. I don't think I can handle everyone staring and whispering if I went to a restaurant."

The two friends exchanged a knowing look before Bette spoke up. "We figured as much, so lunch is downstairs. Lainie cooked up a storm this morning and I handled the dessert."

"We brought the kids too. Paula, Annie and Emily are downstairs." Elaine crouched down to Caitlin's level and chucked her chin. "Paula brought over her jump rope for you, Annie and her to play with. Won't that be fun?"

The child nodded and enthusiastically and pulled on her mother's hand. "Come on, Mommy! Let's go!"

"You come with me," Elaine said, taking the child's hand and leading her from the nursery. "Mommy and Aunt Bette have some talking to do."

Olivia bit her lip, watching as the door closed softly and sealed them in. She turned away, her heart beating nervously as she moved to the window and rested her trembling hands on the sill. Behind her, she heard Bette clear her throat nervously before asking, "How have you been, Toots?"

She shrugged, shivering despite the warm embrace of the sunshine streaming in through the window pane. "Well enough that Dr. Robinson took me off the bed rest."

"Yes, but how have you _been_?"

The insistent question danced in the air and Olivia closed her eyes, stars dancing behind her eyelids as she heard her friend come closer. "How do you think?"

She sighed, their shoulders brushing together. "I think…not great. Probably downright lousy."

Olivia smiled sadly and opened her eyes slowly as she looked over. "Downright lousy, indeed," she whispered. Her breath caught in her throat when Bette reached out, clinging to her hand and squeezing it gently.

"Listen, Livie, I need to tell you how sorry I am for what I said to you on New Year's Day." She felt her tremble and squeezed harder, her words coming faster. "I had no right to say any of the things that I said. I can't even blame it on the infamous Douglas temper."

She shrugged. "You just said the truth."

Bette froze as Olivia pulled her hand back and sank into the rocking chair, the only piece of furniture in the nursery. "It was mean," she insisted, crouching next to her. "And, it certainly wasn't truth for you." She covered her friend's hand with her own and continued, "Gregory is-"

"My husband," she interjected, sitting up as her blue eyes blazed. "And, I won't-"

"Your husband." She sighed and looked down, a bitter taste in her mouth as she admitted, "I shouldn't have attacked you for defending him and I won't anymore. He's truly sick with worry for you." She knew that was true. Gregory wasn't a man to admit to the weakness of fear, but she saw it in him yesterday. It wasn't a show. She sighed and rubbed her hand. "So, I'm sorry. Friends?"

Her throat tightened as she nodded, her vision blurring as she leaned into Bette's embrace. "I've missed you so much," she gasped, squeezing her tight.

"Me too, Toots. Me too."

* * *

"Mommy?"

Olivia opened her eyes slowly, rubbing them awake. She blinked sleepily, her vision blurring as she struggled to focus on her child. "Yes, Darling?"

The child tugged at the end of her braided pigtail and anxiously chewed on her finger. "I want the candy," she whined, shaking the puzzle box from her father's desk.

She pushed herself up, swallowing back a yawn. "We just had lunch though," she murmured, twisting her long hair up and clipping it back. She curled back into the sofa, pulling the quilt over her shivering body. Bette and Elaine stayed late into the afternoon, listening to the happy shouts of the children playing in the garden. The sunny hours on the patio with her friends had passed in idyll peace, no hint of the dark storm clouds that ominously hovered over her. "No candy. It'll make you sick after all the cake you ate."

Caitlin stomped her foot, her brow furrowing. "Candy!" she insisted, thrusting the box at her mother.

"No candy," she repeated firmly, causing her daughter to stomp both her feet this time. "I said _no_." She reached out, taking the puzzle box from her daughter. "And, you shouldn't have taken this off Daddy's desk."

The child's lip puffed out and she put her hands angrily on her hips. "I want the candy!"

Olivia sighed and stood slowly, the quilt falling away. "Caitlin Blake Richards, if you don't stop being naughty, you won't get anymore candy. _Ever_." She took her daughter's hand and pulled her along, clutching the puzzle box in her other hand. "Now, you're going to put this back and then you're going to take a nap."

"No, Mommy!" she shrieked, straining against her mother's grip. "No!"

Compared to the hallway, Gregory's study was bright with afternoon sunshine, the curtains pulled back against the windows. Piles of paperwork and stacks of boxes created makeshift aisles and Olivia rolled her eyes, narrowly squeezing through them. She gently pushed Caitlin forward and handed her the puzzle box. "You know that Daddy doesn't like you playing in here when he's working," she explained, watching the child push the box back into its place in the corner of the desk.

She frowned, her eyes defiant as she turned back to her mother. "I want candy!"

The mother sighed and slowly turned her daughter around. "Up to bed for your nap, young lady. And," she said over a small cry of protest, "if you go upstairs like a good girl, I'll make sure Daddy gives you the candy after dinner."

"I hate naps," she whined even as she let her mother turn her in the direction of the door. The four year old was dwarfed by the towers of boxes as she dejectedly left her father's study. Caitlin was an opinionated child and her will only made her mother shudder, thinking of the teenage years that lay ahead. But ultimately, she was a good child who did what she was told. For now.

A gasp caught in Olivia's throat and she leaned against her husband's desk, bracing her hands on the edge. Her lungs constricted and her eyes widened as she struggled to breathe. Iron bands tightened around her, squeezing the life out of her as she rasped through the shortness of breath. She hung her head, tears of frustration brimming in her eyes as she smacked her hand on the desk. Her head swam, deprived of oxygen as she flew up, gasping like she was drowning.

She spun around, her arm swiping across the desk as she leaned over it. The child in her womb kicked furiously, going through the struggle with its mother. As quickly as the shortness began, it ended. Her lungs opened and she breathed deep, glorious oxygen rushing into her chest. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, her hand shaking as stars danced in her vision. Taking breaths like she was dying, she rested her arms on the desk and shakily whispered to her stomach, "Sorry, Baby."

"Liv?"

She looked over her shoulder as Gregory hurried through the stack of boxes. He reached for her, his hands gently lifting her up and turning her around. "What happened?" he asked, cupping her shoulders.

She shook her head as a bashful smile tinged her lips. "Darling, you know you take my breath away," she joked, making him smile.

His dark eyes moved over her as he clicked his tongue. "As flattering as that is…" he sighed, pressing his lips to her forehead. "No fever," he concluded.

"I just- couldn't catch my breath." Olivia shrugged, shivering under his concerned gaze. "Oh, Darling…look," she sighed, glancing around, "I made a mess of your desk."

"I don't care about that. Are _you_ alright?"

She nodded, breathing deeply for show. "See? All better."

With a crooked smile, he affectionately chucked her chin and put his arm around her. "Breathing like a pro again."

She rested against him and felt the light pressure of his chin on her head. "I don't know, Darling. I think I'm more remedial than pro."

"One day at a time."

"More like one breath at a time," she scoffed, causing him to chuckle.

"Whatever it takes." He rubbed her back, her head fitting neatly in the crook of his neck. "Were you waiting for me long?" he asked, holding her close.

"I wasn't. Caity was snooping around for candy," she said softly, her fingertip tracing the buttons of his shirt. "It's your fault, you know. For hiding the candy and making a game out of it."

He chuckled softly, threading his fingers with hers as she shook her head in mock disapproval. "She turns into a little green-eyed monster when candy is involved, doesn't she?"

She nodded enthusiastically, gently pushing herself up. Her vision blurred for a moment and Gregory reached to steady her. "I'm fine," she said, smiling bravely as she stood tall on her own merits. "See? Ta-da." She looked down, the contents of his desk scattered on the floor. "What a mess," she sighed, bending slowly to begin picking everything up.

"Olivia, don't worry about all that." He crouched next to her, intending to stop her. Instead, he froze, seeing the puzzle box turned on its side, the formerly hidden contents exposed on the threads of the imported carpet. His breath ran shallow, watching his wife's hands gather the pink letters into a neat pile.

"Ah, here it is," he heard her say, picking up the last letter to reveal the piece of candy that so bewitched their daughter. "I promised Caity she could have it later if she took her nap." He watched, turned to stone as she finally looked down at the letters. "I still can't believe you saved my letters," she marveled, turning them over. He fell back against the desk, watching as her eyes moved over the fine paper. "And you say you're not sentimental…"

She trailed off, reading the words written by an unfamiliar hand and not her own as she originally thought. "What is this?" she asked, her face melting in confusion. She rifled through them, the delicate paper wrinkling in her hands. "Gregory?"

The pitch of her voice rose, tortured in the silence of the study. "Who wrote this?" she asked, drawn to the letters like moth to flame. "_Waiting and wanting, I long for your touch. Gently at first, then rougher_." She stopped reading abruptly as her eyes flew up to him, wide with uncertainty and fear. "Who wrote this?"


	35. My Cherie Amour

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 35: "My Cherie Amour"

The wood of the desk was unforgiving, standing firm as Gregory leaned back against it. He watched his wife rifle through the letters, her eyes moving furiously over them as she read snippets of one before moving onto the next one. A numbing horror swept through him, powerless to stop the destruction unfolding before him.

"Gregory, who wrote these?" Olivia repeated, the pink letters reduced to a sad crumple in her tense fist. She sank to her knees, her legs no longer able to support herself as she watched him, waiting.

"Olivia." Her name was a whisper on his lips as he looked up, her suddenly pale face a mask of devastation.

"I don't understand." She shook her head, turning back to the letters. A wave of disgust went through her, the pale pink stationery dancing in her vision. She never owned stationery such as this. Looking back at the inside of the puzzle box, she saw her own letters to him, bound with a lavender silk ribbon. The ribbon once held her hair back and she closed her eyes, remembering the weight of her hair hitting her back as he untied the silk, losing his hand in the long waves. She swallowed hard and slowly looked back at him. "Did Cash- that woman- did _she_ write them?"

"You don't understand," he said, reaching to take the letters from her.

"Then make me understand," she snapped, jerking her hand so the letters were just beyond his reach. He sighed, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "They're from that woman?"

"No, they aren't from her."

She sat quietly, digesting the information. A horrifying thought whispered cruelly from the depths of her mind, sending a chill down her back. "Someone else?" she asked, her voice unnaturally even. "Another one?"

"_No_." His exclamation cut through the tortured silence like a knife, echoing in the silence. "It's nothing like that."

"Like what? You having an affair?" She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she clasped her hands over her stomach. "You had one once, why wouldn't you again?"

Gregory looked down, ice dripping into his stomach as she sighed heavily. "I deserved that," he said flatly. Her eyes narrowed, a lump rising in her throat as her hands trembled. She tightened her mouth, her lips disappearing into a thin line when he looked up. His dark eyes were hollow, a faraway look clouding them as looked not at her, but through her. "I wouldn't do that to you again," he said quietly, finally meeting her eyes. "I wouldn't."

And, she knew it was the truth. Pain was etched onto his face, deep lines in his expression that weren't there a few short weeks ago. She frowned, tilting her head slightly as she was drawn again to the letters. "What are these?" she finally asked, gesturing to the stack of pink letters before her. "Who sent them?"

"I don't know who sent them," he admitted. He reached out, fingering the top letter carefully. It was a nightmare come to life, his wife sitting less than a foot away from the threatening letters. "We, Morris and I, think the woman who wrote them killed Cashlin."

Olivia sat quietly, riveted to her husband. "Why would she write these to you?"

He chuckled meanly, truly at a loss as he surrendered to the absurdity of it all. "I don't know exactly. So I could know that she killed her, I suppose."

"For you?" Her heart began to beat faster as his eyes darkened, tension in his jaw. "She killed her for you?" He cleared his throat, suddenly dry as Olivia shivered noticeably. She lowered her trembling chin to her neck, watching him with serious upturned eyes. "Gregory, have you told the police?"

"No. I don't have anything to give them, not even a name."

She sighed weakly, reaching for the top letter. Unease churned in her stomach as her hand trembled. "But, she's dangerous," she said softly. He watched her turn the letter right-side up, reading it slowly. Her lips moved, forming the terrifying words scrawled onto the paper. He heard her sharp intake of breath and watched the letter fall from her hand, fluttering to the floor. "_She'll be gone forever and we'll be together_. She means me?"

"Olivia-"

"Please, just answer me!"

He sighed and nodded slowly. "Yes, I think she does." He watched as her spine seemingly broke and she caved in on herself. "Olivia," he began, sitting up as a shadow moved over face, "nothing will hap-"

"How long have you known?" Her question was a zing of electricity in the room, a heralding trumpet as she struggled to push herself up. He sat up, grasping her arms to help her to her knees. She gripped his shoulders, breathing heavily. "When did they start? The letters?"

Gregory met her eyes, pools of blue clouded with the shine of unshed tears. The truth hovered beneath the surface, fighting to be unleashed. Her fingers dug into his flesh, painful testimony that the truth would indeed set you free. What the adage never mentioned was that the truth could also destroy you. Her. Everything. "The day we came back from Montserrat."

She closed her eyes, as if it could protect her from the knowledge he lay at her feet. "Months." A statement, not a question. "You've known for months." When she opened her eyes, he couldn't help but shiver. They were ice, just as clear and just as cold. "And, you said _nothing_."

"Of course, I didn't," he snapped. "'Olivia, there's a crazy woman writing me letters. She killed Cashlin. Now, she's threatening you. Please, try and keep your blood pressure down.'" He shook his head, tightening his grip on her arms. "I did it to protect you."

"Protect me?" she scoffed. "You did it to protect yourself."

"No-"

"You and all your little secrets."

"Well, now you know them all," he said sullenly, her face falling as she squirmed beneath his touch.

She frowned and slowly shook her head. His very reply was a testament of all that had changed, of the wide chasm between them. Things would never be the same for them ever again, she realized as she whispered, "Why did you even have them in the first place?" Her grasp lessened and she brushed her hair back, sighing heavily. "I don't even know when or why the secrets started." She looked up, sighing heavily. "And, _that_ terrifies me. You used to tell me everything."

He flinched, her wounded whisper reaching out like a skeletal hand to rip his heart from his chest. "You were the first person I could trust." A wave of sadness rode across her face and his hands slid down her arms to find hers. "For better of worse, you knew me. All of me."

"I used to think so," she said softly, sorrow written across her face. She began to pull her hands back, but he wouldn't have it, holding them insistently. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"I couldn't tell you," he replied, watching the way she stiffened. "You- _We_ were scared about the pregnancy. After the other day in the doctor's office, I wasn't going to put you through the hell of this." Olivia's chin trembled, her throat tightening. "In the beginning, I thought they were from Cashlin." She flinched at the name, but he pressed on, holding her hands against his chest. "But, then she was murdered and they kept coming. I brought Morris in so he could investigate who sent them."

"But, still not me." He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Never me."

"I wasn't going to worry you."

"_This_ worries me!" She threw his hands away, smacking him angrily in the chest before furiously gesturing between them. "There's a wall between us. It never used to be there before!"

"Liv-"

"Or, maybe it always was and I just never noticed," she whispered, her sadness weeping from every fiber of her soul. "I look now and all I see is the distance between us."

"There's no distance, Liv. I needed to keep you safe and I did it the only way I know how." She shook her head and he frowned, his voice cracking as he sighed, "All I wanted to do was protect you."

"I don't need your protection, Gregory! I've got Morris following me around day and night, remember? What I need is my husband!" Her eyes glistened with tears as she choked on an unrealized sob. "And, I need him to be honest with me! The way I was with him!" Her head fell, the fragile twist finally collapsing as her hair spilled around her shoulders.

He reached up slowly, drawing her in against his chest as she began to sob. She resisted, struggling against him as he sat them on the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered, turning his face into her hair. He wrapped his arms around her, continuing his apologetic mantra until she went slack against him. Leaning against his desk as her tears soaked his shirt, he closed his eyes and took in the scent of her shampoo. "I- I was afraid," he finally said, a murmur in the tortured quiet. She sniffed, feeling his heart thundering straight through his chest. "Of what you would think when you found out about the letters."

Her face fell and she closed her eyes, a sad tear curling from her eye as she listened. "You were right to think there was a second woman. To doubt me," he admitted, her fingers curling around the material of his shirt. "I don't deserve your trust. I don't deserve you. I never did." She shivered, turning her face into his chest and hiding from everything. The letters. The truth. Him. "I was afraid that when you found out about Cashlin and the letters, you would look at me and finally realize that too," he confessed, the truth painfully ripping away from the wall of his soul.

She shook her head, pushing herself up. The grief on his face was unmistakable, his expression ashen. "So, that's it then? You don't deserve me?" He looked away as she pressed her palms to her cheeks and exhaled slowly. "Who does, if you don't?" she asked faintly, climbing out from between his legs to sit next to him. She sighed heavily, suddenly exhausted as she slumped against him. "Please, just tell that me I know everything now."

With a painstaking slowness, he grimly turned back to her and met her eyes. "The letters are usually mixed in with the mail or newspaper and one was sent to my office. All of them came that way, except one." He reached out to take her hand, but she moved it, preferring her own hand to his. "I found one in the living room." He folded his hands in his lap, hiding the way they trembled as he softly concluded, "Now, you know everything."

She gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "She's been in our home?" She bit the corner of her lip, her blood running cold. "Gregory-"

"Morris has a team of men watching the house."

"But-"

"He's watching you and Caity."

She reached out slowly, touching his arm. He looked up, his expression detached from the rest of him. "And you? Who's watching you?"

He forced a crooked half-smile to his lips, covering her hand with his. "As long as you and our children are safe, I can take care of myself."

With a sad expression, she shook her head and reached for the letters. "No, you can't, Gregory," she murmured, rifling through them. "I wish to God you'd learn that." He watched her read through them, absently twirling a lock of hair around her finger. She could have been reading anything for all the detachment she showed them. "I wish you would tell the police about these. Let them figure out who's writing them."

"They'll never take them seriously. And, she only alludes to Cashlin's murder." He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "The letters aren't enough to prove that I didn't kill her."

She nodded, her eyes heavy. "What does the song mean?" she asked after a long moment.

He turned to her, confused. "What song?"

She passed him the letter she was reading and he recognized it as the most recent letter. "The first sentence. _I've been near you, but you never notice me_. It's from that song…what's it called again?" He shrugged, reading through the letter. "Remember, Del and Madeline played it at their wedding and Bette made fun of them for it? She thought it was silly to play a song about unrequited love for such an occasion." She looked over at him and said, "It can't have been an accident that the line is there."

"I don't know what it means," he admitted with a sigh, closing his eyes against a growing headache as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I truly don't."

"Maybe she thinks it your song- yours and hers."

"That's not funny, Olivia."

She gripped his shoulder, pushing herself up. Her head spun and gripped the edge of the desk, waiting until her legs could support her. "I'm being serious," she sighed, brushing her hair back over one shoulder as he stood. "There's nothing funny about this."

Gregory watched his wife leave, carefully navigating though the stack of boxes. She closed the door softly behind her, leaving him in the study, surrounded by a sea of pink letters.

* * *

_A/N: The title of this chapter and the line in the letter were inspired by the song "My Cherie Amour" (written by Stevie Wonder, Henry Cosby and Sylvia Moy)._


	36. A Mother Knows

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 36: "A Mother Knows"

"Barbara, love, I seem to have misplaced one of my socks." Thomas looked up in time to see the lost item flying through the air. He reached out and caught it, balling it together with its twin. "Thank you." She nodded curtly, turning back to her open suitcase. He frowned, coming around the bed. "What's wrong?"

"We shouldn't be leaving," she replied, her voice soft but flat. She looked up, her loose blond curls bouncing slightly. "It's wrong."

He sighed, reaching out for his wife's shoulder. "We already discussed this. If we stay longer like you wanted us to, it will do no good for Olivia."

"Oh, Thomas! Don't be ridiculous!" She brushed his hand away, sidestepping him as she drew her arms tight against her chest. "We can make sure she's getting enough rest. We can help with Caitlin."

"They already have help. Elsa is-"

"We are her parents!"

He sighed. "We're in the way."

Barbara narrowed her blue eyes, the look in them icy as she snapped, "Are we?"

He nodded. "There's no way that she and Gregory can get on with their lives if we are hovering over them. They need time alone." Her head flew around, a rebuttal on her lips when he repeated with insistence, "We're in the way."

She sat down, her shoulders hunched over in defeat. "She's so angry with me." She looked over at her husband as he sat next to her, his eyes clouded with concern. "She's barely spoken to me the last few days."

Thomas smiled when he put his arm around his wife and she leaned into him. "Olivia's protecting her husband. I'm sure you gave him quite the dressing down." She shrugged guiltily and peeked up. "This is her family. This is her life."

"But, Thomas," she said softly, pushing herself up, "does he deserve her?" He frowned and she reached for his hand, squeezing it. "How do we know that Gregory didn't kill-"

"I believe in our daughter." Barbara took her hand back as he continued, "I believe Olivia and she believes her husband."

"It's not that simple."

"It has to be," he said, his stern expression finally getting her attention. "Anything less will hurt Olivia. If supporting Gregory means Olivia will be spared extra grief, then so be it." He cupped his wife's chin and gently turned her face to his. "Your furious with Gregory because he betrayed her. But, do you really think he'd kill another person?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "And, that terrifies me. I'm not sure about anything anymore."

He smiled sadly, cupping her cheek as he said softly, "Let me be sure for both of us then, hmm?" She nodded weakly, a sob rising in her throat as he continued, "I'm sure that, despite his recent actions, Gregory loves our daughter very deeply. I'm sure that he sincerely wants to make things right between them. I'm sure that Olivia loves him and truly believes in his innocence. But, most of all, I'm sure that if we give them some time, things will go back to the way they used to be."

She sighed heavily, pressing her palms against her flaming cheeks. "So, that's it then? We're really leaving?"

He nodded, chucking his wife's chin affectionately. "Yes. We've had our holiday. Now it's home to London in time for the start of a new term." He stood, holding his hand out to help Barbara up. "But we'll be back in March."

She smiled genuinely, looking up at her husband. "To meet our new grandchild."

"Brighter days are ahead, Barbara. I'm sure of it," he said as she moved into his embrace. "Brighter days."

* * *

Stanton stepped into the study, his eyebrows jumping up in surprise. Olivia lay on the leather sofa, a plump pillow cushioning her feet. He turned questioningly to Gregory, who covered the handset and offered a simple request, "Close the door, Morris."

He pushed the door shut and, for good measure, turned the lock. "Excellent," he heard Gregory say. "Call me when they've decided." The handset hit the receiver with a measure of victory and he asked, "Good news, Greg?"

"You might say." He stacked his paperwork into a neat pile and stood, crossing the room to the sofa. "Patricia Steele was supposed to meet me in court next week for trial. I got the D.A.'s office to reassign her. They've requested a continuance until the new D.A. is up to speed."

Stanton smirked. This was the kind of win that Gregory thrived on. "How did you manage that?"

"The police got her to sign the search warrant for the house." He glanced down at his wife, who barely moved or otherwise acknowledged the events taking place. "A judge I play golf with decided that was a severe conflict of interest."

"You can probably get the search warrant reversed too."

Gregory cocked his head as he clicked his tongue. "Morris, I thought you knew me better. That was the _first_ thing I did this morning. I also got the small amount of alleged evidence the police collected from the warrant thrown out too."

"Good day for you."

"So far," he muttered as he sat in armchair closest to the sofa, hunched over his knees. "What do you have?"

"What do you know about your two secretaries?"

"They do their jobs," he said slowly. "They came with good references. Both have worked for lawyers before."

Stanton sat across from Gregory with two thin folders in his lap. "I eliminated your three clerks. They're all male. As for your female staff, based on the writing samples and their limited access to you as of late, I'm ruling out your one female clerk and junior secretary. That just leaves Maria Tong and Ruth Runyon. I've got their histories," he said, passing over the folders.

He glanced at Olivia, who hadn't moved and stared vacantly at the ceiling. Her hands rested on her stomach, folded tight. He frowned, not having seen her since Gregory told him that she knew about the letters. "Ruth is the one that's been at the house a lot recently, hasn't she?"

Gregory nodded, thumbing through the files on his two employees. "Maria has been running my office for the last few weeks. Ruth has been running back and forth between here and there." He looked up finally, tossing the folders onto the coffee table between him and Morris. "That's it?"

He cocked his head and leaned back. "What were you hoping for?"

With a heavy sigh, Gregory watched his wife for a long moment. "Something a little more final," he whispered. "Something that would finally end this." Olivia gazed insistently at the ceiling, silent in her anguish as she listened.

"I want to put them both under surveillance." He waited until Gregory looked back at him before continuing, "All of this is just a start. We still don't really have any proof that one of them is her."

"I don't need a lecture on circumstantial evidence," he sighed as he turned back to his wife. His eyes followed the curve of her neck to the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Heaven was the hollow of Olivia's throat, the shallow dip of satin that his lips often claimed. But, heaven was denied to him. She had barely spoken to him since finding out about the letters yesterday, other than to insist that she be present when he met with Stanton. "Do it, but discreetly."

He nodded. "Have you gotten a particular feeling of…" he trailed off, glancing at Olivia.

"What?"

"That one of them has feelings for you." Olivia's statement rang like church bells in the sudden quiet, her words simple but powerful. But, her eyes never strayed from the ceiling, even though by doing so it left the two men riveted.

"Never," Gregory insisted. "Maria has worked for me for over year and Ruth just a few months."

"Maybe Maria is unhappy that you gave Nancy's job to Ruth instead of her." As Stanton watched his friend mull over the suggestion, he continued, "Maybe we got it wrong. It's not love, but revenge. Maria is torturing you because she felt she deserved the promotion that Ruth got."

"Oh, please," Olivia scoffed, still not looking at them. "Revenge? You two haven't the first idea about what a woman does when she's in love." She sighed, closing her burning eyes for a long moment before staring back at the blank ceiling. "This woman has spent months writing you letters, pledging her devotion and making plans for the future. This is _not_ revenge. Whether or not you realize who she is, she loves you," she said dryly.

Gregory sat quietly, listening to his wife. He looked up slowly, wishing she would turn and look at him as she came to her conclusion. "Who loves someone who doesn't know they exist?" he asked quietly.

Stanton sat back, watching as Olivia slowly turned to her husband. Her blue eyes moved over him as she tightened her mouth. "The woman who's fallen in love with _you_."

"I'll put my best men on it," Stanton said after a long moment. He stood slowly, watching as Gregory and Olivia locked eyes. "You can keep the files."

Gregory nodded, barely registering as Stanton slipped from the room and closed the door behind him. "Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?" he asked, desperate now that she had finally spoken.

She sighed. "Of course you're sorry. You always are."

He started to reach for her, but had second thoughts. "Would it have been better if I showed you the first letter when I got it all those months ago?" he asked.

With a shrug, she pushed herself up and clasped her hands in her lap. "Maybe. I don't know," she admitted softly. She met his eyes and frowned, pain and loathing swirling within his dark brown irises. She reached out and cupped his face, sweeping up to run her hand around to the back of his head. He leaned in, falling to his knees before her. She let him take her hands, feeling his lips on them a moment later. "You _do_ deserve me," she whispered finally, causing him to look up.

He swallowed hard, a rock of emotion lodged in his throat. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his as his arms went around her waist. "Another man wouldn't have done this to you," he finally said, his voice tight as she pulled back.

"Maybe not," she agreed softly, looking deep into his eyes as she cupped his face within her hands. "Then again, I didn't love another man. Just you."

A smile barely came to his lips as he watched her, relishing in the sunlight of her gaze. "Have you regretted it? Loving me?" He watched as she shook her head, her forehead touching his as she leaned back against him. Pulling her against him, he sighed and gently placed his hands on her stomach. Their child moved eagerly and he closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation. "There's nothing else. You know everything now."

She wrapped her arms around him, sighing tiredly. "Oh, Darling…promise?"

"I swear, Liv."

* * *

"Dr. Davis? There someone to see you, but she hasn't made an appointment."

John Davis barely glanced up at his secretary hovering in the doorway. "Who is it?" he asked, focusing on his patient's chart as he made a note.

"John?"

He looked up this time, instantly recognizing the voice. "Olivia, please come in." He stood quickly, extending his hand to usher in his wife's friend. "Hold everything, Andrea."

"But, Mrs. Fry has an appointment and-"

"Mrs. Fry will need to be rescheduled." He smiled and firmly closed the door, turning back to his office. Olivia stood quietly in the middle of the room, her hand twitching anxiously. "How are you feeling, Olivia?"

"Fine," she said, even though the expression on his face revealed his disappointment with her answer. "But, I didn't come by to talk about how I feel."

"No?" He gestured her to one of the armchairs by the large window overlooking a green and leafy courtyard. "Most people come to a psychiatrist to talk about how they feel."

"That isn't why I came," she repeated, watching him claim the armchair next to hers.

"How can I help you?" He watched as she reached for her purse and opened her wallet. "What's this?" he asked as she held out a crisp dollar bill.

"Please take it." When he did, Olivia explained, "Now you're my doctor."

"And I'm now bound by the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality," he continued, understanding as he pocketed the money.

She sighed in relief as a small smile graced her face. "Thank you, John. I just need to be sure that nothing I ask you will be repeated."

"To either Bette or Gregory."

She nodded. "No matter what."

He sat back, leaning into the soft leather as he nodded. "What do you need to ask me?" Here, she paused, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth. "Why don't you just start at the beginning?" he suggested after she began to restlessly twist her hands.

"The beginning," she repeated, her voice soft. She folded her hands tight in her lap and looked up, meeting John square in the eye. "Gregory's been receiving letters."

"Letters?"

"_Love_ letters."

John's face was still, detached as he took her clarification in. "I see," he began.

"No, you don't." She rested her hand on the crest of her stomach as she sighed deeply. "He's been getting them for months and he doesn't know who's sending them."

A long moment passed, the tick-tock of the clock melting into the background. "Do you believe that?" he asked quietly. Her eyes flashed before they narrowed into defiant slits and he held up his hands, surrendering. "Don't tell me you never asked yourself that."

"I have. And I believe him." She squared her shoulders, watching him carefully. "Gregory doesn't know who this woman is." John nodded, urging her to continue. "But the letters…they're bizarre."

"How so?"

Olivia scratched her stomach, her skin heated and crawling with an unbearable itchiness. "This woman writes about Gregory like she knows him." She paused, swallowing hard before she continued in a hushed whisper, "She writes about Gregory like _she_ is his wife."

"What else?" he asked quietly. But, she sat quietly, toying with the empty space on her left hand's ring finger. "Has she threatened you?" She nodded slowly, looking down into her lap. "It will help you to talk about it."

"Talk about how a crazy woman is threatening me after Gregory's mistress was murdered?" she scoffed, shivering in spite of herself. "How does that help?"

"Because you're afraid. If you keep your fear locked up, you'll drown."

She shook her head dismissively, wincing as the baby kicked her ribcage. "I told you I didn't come to talk about myself." She waited until he tilted his head before she continued, "Gregory is positive the woman writing the letters killed Cashlin. But, she writes letters to him like they're involved in a relationship."

"You've seen them? The letters?" She nodded and he sighed, steepling his fingers as he asked, "Does she remind Gregory of things? Places they've gone? Private memories that only two people in love would share?" She nodded again, a chill racing down her spine as John's eyes darkened. "Have the letters become increasingly hostile?"

"Why?"

"Because she's in love with Gregory and she's convinced herself that he loves her in return. And he isn't responding to her affections."

"But how can he if he doesn't even know who she is!" she exclaimed, echoing her husband's question from earlier.

John nodding as he stood and turned to the bookcase. "I'm quite sure he does know her." His back was turned and he missed the way a wave of panic washed across her face. "They have met once in passing. Or, she's someone he sees on a daily basis who misunderstood a moment of kindness."

"I don't understand," she confessed as he turned back, thumbing through a thick textbook.

"Not many people do," he admitted, returning to the armchair with the heavy book in his lap. "And, not having treated this woman, I can only speculate, but it sounds like…" he trailed off, running his finger down the page, "Ah, here it is - de Clérambault's Syndrome."

"I've never heard of that."

"Well, there's some dispute within the psychiatric community as to whether or not it actually exists. The psychosis is named after a French doctor who wrote a paper on it back in the 20's. It's informally known as Erotomania."

"Mania?" she whispered.

"When diagnosing the symptoms, many doctors confuse it with Bipolar Disorder or even Schizophrenia. That's why we see so few cases of it." He sighed, scanning the page with his finger as he asked softly, "Did you ever love someone from afar when you were a young girl?"

She shrugged, brushing her hair from her shoulder. "Frankie Doyle. I was fourteen. He was three years ahead of me in school."

"What was special about him?"

"Seriously?" He nodded and looked up. She grinned bashfully as she admitted, "He rolled his own cigarettes. That was a big thing for England in the 60's." He chuckled, turning back to the textbook. "But, it wasn't really love."

"That's what makes you different from an Erotomaniac." He turned the page, paraphrasing aloud, "From the few case studies done, it appears to exclusively affect young women. They develop an intense infatuation for someone wealthy or otherwise unattainable and they mistake the feelings for true love."

"So, if I was still pining for Frankie, I'd be an Erotomaniac?"

"Well, it's not just the intense feelings they have. It's that they _act_ on them. Letters, small tokens of affection. These women truly believe their love is returned." He looked up, his brow furrowed. "The fascinating thing is that these women also believe they are simply responding to the man pursuing _them_."

Olivia sat up, gasping slightly as her chest tightened. "So, this woman thinks that Gregory started all of this?"

"She most likely thinks he's still doing it. Erotomaniacs convince themselves that something as simple as a nod in their direction is indicative of the man's love for them."

"Is there a cure?" she asked, unable to keep the nervous tremor from her hand.

He hesitated before finally shaking his head. "There's anti-psychotic medication, but it doesn't solve the root cause of Erotomania."

"What is the root cause?"

"We don't know yet."

She cleared her throat and asked, "What happens next?" He was still as she continued, "She's angry. She sees me as rival. She-" With an embarrassed shrug, she brought her hand to her mouth and coughed, rasping for breath.

"Breathe through your nose," he said, standing. "I'll get you some water."

She leaned forward, gratefully sipping the ice water when he returned a moment later. "Thank you," she sighed, the cool water soothing her inflamed throat.

"Does Gregory know you're here?"

She shook her head, gripping the glass. "No. What happens," she asked, changing subjects, "when she realizes Gregory isn't hers?"

John sighed, closing the book gently and laying it on the small table between them. "She won't," he said evasively, regretting the way her eyes turned.

"She blames me. She thinks I'm keeping him from her," she whispered, setting the glass aside. Her elbows found her knees as she hid her face in her hands. "That's why you asked if the letters were growing hostile." He nodded as she peeked through her fingers. "She killed Cashlin because she was in the way and now-"

"You must tell the police."

She sat up, sighing. "Gregory won't. They're still desperate to arrest him for Cashlin's murder. He won't bring this to the police until he figures out who's sending them. He's working with a private investigator."

"Do you want to wait that long?" Her eyebrow arched and he clarified, "For every day that goes by and Gregory isn't with her, her resentment towards you will grow."

"Gregory hired a man to protect me," she replied weakly, even as she relived the terror from her nightmare the other day. "I- I just came to you so I could know what we're dealing with."

He watched as she began to push herself up, effectively ending their meeting. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, taking her arm and helping her up.

She smiled, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "No, John. Thank you for speaking with me."

"If you ever want to come back, just call," he said, walking her to the door. "Remember, you've got me on retainer."

"Does one dollar get me a lot of sessions?" she asked softly as they stepped into the small reception area. Stanton stood, tossing the well-thumbed travel magazine aside as the doctor hugged her gently.

"Sliding scale," he said simply. He nodded at Stanton, who stood protectively behind her. "Please take care of yourself, Olivia."

She smiled and turned away, letting Stanton lead her out of the office. "Read anything interesting?" she asked as she took his arm.

He shrugged. "Montreal might be a nice place to take Val and Maya for vacation next winter. Next best thing to Europe and less expensive."

She nodded as they waited for the elevator. "Are you going to tell Gregory where I was?" she asked finally.

"Do you want me to?"

"I'd prefer not," she admitted. "He'll worry."

Stanton felt her fingers digging into his broad arm, her throat working hard as she watched him. "As far as I'm concerned, I've been bored out of my mind as you wandered through racks of clothes at one of the boutiques."

She smiled gratefully, brushing her hair behind her ear. "But I didn't buy anything."

He shrugged, contributing to the lie. "You're frustrated. You thought every outfit you tried on looked like a tent. You're fed up with maternity clothes."

With a laugh, she turned back to the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. "He'll believe that." The polished silver doors showed her reflection and she sighed, not recognizing the woman before her. Fear clouded her eyes, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. "John thinks we should tell the police. He thinks she's going to get angrier with every passing day."

He sighed, watching as Olivia lowered her head. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Not on my watch."

She looked up, her eyes shiny as she blinked. "Thank you, Morris."

* * *

Gregory came down the stairs, Caitlin on his hip. The front door was open, a warm breeze blowing through the foyer. Barbara and Thomas stood quietly, watching as the driver picked up the last of their luggage and disappeared out the front door with it. He lowered his daughter to the ground and whispered, "Say goodbye to Nana and Poppop."

As the child skipped across the foyer, Gregory moved to Olivia's side. Her eyes were downcast, her hands protectively on her stomach. She glanced up as he put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned in, taking in the faint scent of his cologne. "They'll be back," he whispered, kissing her forehead as she wrapped her arm around his waist. She nodded, watching Caitlin giggle uproariously as her grandparents sandwiched her between them with kisses.

"That tickles!" the child shrieked, squirming as her grandfather swept her up into his arms.

Barbara folded her sweater over her arm, feeling nothing but the distance between her and her daughter. She watched her stand quietly with Gregory, reluctantly admitting to herself that he would protect her. Protect her or die trying. She shivered, draping her sweater over her shoulders as she watched Thomas near them.

"Gregory," he said, shaking his son-in-law's hand firmly. He thought back to the day he found the young lawyer outside his schoolroom, a bundle of nerves beneath his cool exterior. His own surprise when he realized Gregory's clandestine visit to London was for the sole purpose of asking for Olivia's hand. He hadn't even stayed the night. After getting his consent, the young man got right back on a plane and flew back to California so he could propose. He sure Gregory was right for his daughter then and he was still sure now. They were still those people. Things would be better again in time.

The younger man nodded. "We're sorry you decided not to extend your visit after all."

"Well, with work, it just wasn't possible. Besides," he said brightly, turning to his daughter, "we'll be back in a few weeks." Olivia slipped from Gregory's embrace, throwing her arms around her father. He smiled as she gripped him tightly, her back shuddering beneath his arms as he hugged her close. "Back before you know it."

She nodded, looking up as she blinked back tears. "Promise?" she asked softly, her voice cracking.

"Of course, love." He frowned as she nodded, the heartbreak evident on her face. He chucked her chin and smiled, reaching for her hand to squeeze it. "I love you, Olivia."

"I love you too, Daddy," she sighed, falling back into his embrace. She felt her father's strong hand on her back and she pursed her lips, putting on a brave face as she backed away. "Call when you get home."

"We will," he said, turning to Barbara and reaching for her hand. Mother and daughter locked eyes and Thomas turned to Gregory, gesturing with his head. They slipped out the front door, Caitlin in their wake.

Barbara sighed, looking down at her shoes for a long moment. "I know I've disappointed you," she heard Olivia say and her head shot up in surprise.

"You've never disappointed me, Olivia." She took her hand, her blue eyes wide as they moved over her daughter's pain stricken face. "_Never_." She pulled her daughter close, enveloping her in a tight embrace. "Your father and I would go to the ends of the earth if that would ease the even the _slightest_ pain for you." A tear rolled down her face when Olivia squeezed her back and she sighed, continuing, "It's incredibly difficult for a mother to see her child suffering and know there is nothing she can do to stop it."

Olivia crumpled as her mother cupped her face in both hands, gazing intently into her eyes. "I wish you weren't leaving," she admitted, tears spilling from her eyes as she gripped her mother's wrists. "There's so much-"

"What?" She paled, watching as her daughter lowered her face, sobbing into oblivion. Her hot tears burned into her flesh as she pulled her daughter against her. "Please, Darling, tell me."

She shook her head, an unnatural flush coloring her cheeks as she wiped them dry. Her parents could never know about the letters. In their eyes, especially Barbara's, it would just be another indictment against Gregory. She forced a smile to her face as her mother's hands fell to her shoulders. "I don't want you to leave and still think poorly of Gregory," she covered, watching as her mother stiffened.

"Time, Olivia. I just need time." Her lips disappeared into a thin line as she watched Olivia nod. "It was a dreadful few weeks," she began, reaching out to smooth her daughter's hair. She sighed, channeling her husband's eternal optimism as she said, "I'm sure everything will be better when we come back in March."

"Seven weeks."

With a smile, Barbara fingered a lock of her daughter's hair. "Yes, seven weeks until the new baby makes his grand entrance."

"Or hers."

"Oh, no." She shook her head as she gently placed her hand on her daughter's stomach. "This is a grandson."

"You think so, Mummy?" Olivia asked, unable to keep the hope from her voice.

She smiled mysteriously, taking her daughter's hand. "A mother knows."


	37. A Storm is Coming

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 37: "A Storm is Coming"

Bette glanced up when her husband sighed, one tinged with frustration. "What's the matter?"

John shook his head, turning back to the thick medical text in his lap. "Nothing. Just a patient."

Her eyes lit up as Emily fussed, a thin cry that stretched between them. "Oh, really? Anything juicy?"

"Bette…"

"Come on, Doc! You don't have to use real names! Make it like a blind item."

He shook his head again, peering over the top of the book. "Absolutely not."

"Fine," she sighed, turning back to the child. "So, what's bothering you about this _patient-who-shall-not-be-named_?"

"She-"

"Ah-ha! So, it's a she…I'm getting warmer!"

"-or he is going through some marital difficulty."

She wrinkled her face and sighed as he turned back to his book. "You're no fun. You know all this gossip and can't tell me _any_ of it!"

"Believe me, you don't want to know the half of what I know."

She held Emily up to her shoulder, rubbing the infant's back to force out the gas pocket. "That bad, hmm?"

He nodded, closing the book resoundingly and setting it aside. When he looked back, Bette's eyes were full of concern, worry rippling across her face. "Suffice to say, it is difficult to help some patients when they won't let you."

She sat quietly for a moment, the baby still squirming uncomfortably in her arms until she burped softly. "Didn't you say to me once," she asked softly, "that sometimes it's enough that they come to see you? That they recognize they need help?"

"Yes, but that's only good enough for so long. There has to be a desire to change, to rid themselves of the behavior that caused them so much destruction."

"Is that what's wrong now? A patient is caught in a never-ending cycle of destruction?"

"Yes, she's," he admitted, making no pretense of describing his patient's gender, "confided in me something that I'm struggling with my conscience not to report to the police."

"Something illegal?"

"Not _quite_. But something that would ease a great deal of pain and anxiety for her. She's keeping a secret on her husband's behalf."

"Does her husband know what keeping his secret is doing to his wife?"

"I believe he's got some idea, at least I hope he does. But I doubt he understands the full extent of her anguish."

"Well, he's an _idiot_ for doing that to her." She sighed, sliding her nearly sleeping infant into the crook of her arm. "You should let me talk to her. I'm sure I could get through to her, woman-to-woman."

He nodded, distracted as his mind worked. "This woman though…I'm afraid it's going to take something drastic for her to have the breakthrough I want for her."

* * *

"Play nice!" Harris called out as two of her step-children scattered like the wind at the playground gates. She sighed, tucking her thin locks out the back end of her faded baseball cap. "Jude! Don't push your sister off the jungle gym!"

These boisterous children would be the death of her yet.

"Let them fight, Jeannie," Charlie, the oldest boy muttered. "It's not too late for me to be a great only child."

She smirked and flung her arm around the twelve-year-old boy. "Aye, you're a wise one." She plopped on the bench next to her stepson and they opened their respective books in unison. "But you'd be bored without them."

"Bored with no one messing up my stuff? Bored with no one jumping on my bed at six in the morning? Yeah," he scoffed, unfolding the dog-eared page, "whatever would I do with all that peace and quiet?"

She lay her book next to her, breathing deep and closing her eyes as she turned her face to the sun. A salty breeze blew off the ocean, stirring the palm frond and carrying the happy shrieks of the children away from her. She glanced around, eyeing eight-year-old Germaine scampering up the ladder to the top of the slide. Her twin brother, Jude, was dangling from the monkey bars by his knees, giggling as the hem of his shirt fell over his face.

Jeannie shook her head and was turning back for her book when she noticed the bench to her left. A pregnant woman sat quietly, a wide brimmed hat hiding her face from view. She swallowed hard and quickly looked at the group of children running around the pebbled playground. A familiar girl was racing down the slide, her blonde pigtails streaming behind her. The girl jumped up, waving to the woman on the bench next to her. She bit her lip and lowered the brim of her cap as the woman next to her waved back. "What's wrong?" she heard Charlie ask.

"Nothing," she murmured, angling her body so that her back was to Olivia. She forced a smile to her face and gestured to a bench on the other side of the playground. "What do you say we move over there? Looks a bit quieter."

"I don't know," he began unsurely. "There's no shade there."

"Charlie, I'll give you $10 if you zip your mouth and move over there with me right now."

"Ok." He jumped up, trotting away.

As Jeannie stood, causing the pebbles to crunch beneath her feet, the woman to her left looked over, following her child as she ran to the seesaw. "Are you following me?" she asked, causing the detective to freeze.

She turned slowly, watching as Olivia stood. "No." She stiffened as the distance between them diminished and suddenly they were a breath apart. "I brought my step-kids."

With a skeptical pause, she turned back to the children. "Which ones are they?"

"There," Jeannie replied meekly, pointing to the little girl who had her brother caught in a headlock. "Germaine, let him go!"

"They're…energetic," Olivia said softly, watching as the twins shoved each other before separating.

"Yeah," she said flatly, folding her arms over her chest. "That's one word for them." She cleared her throat and went back on her heels. "They like coming here when they stay with my husband and I." A gust of wind blew back the brim of Olivia's hat and for a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of the other woman's pale face and the dark smudges beneath her eyes. "I really didn't know you would be here. I can get the kids and go."

Olivia shrugged and turned back to the bench, exhaling heavily as she sat. "I think there's more than enough room for the both of us."

She balked, caught between the natural urge to sit and continue the conversation and fleeing as the Chief's warning echoed in her mind. With a sigh, she slowly returned to her original bench, stretching out her legs before her. "Are you doing better?" she asked slowly.

"Better than the last time we saw each other," Olivia said flatly, unconsciously rubbing her belly. "For the most part, that is." Silence fell between them and she watched Caitlin abandon the seesaw, instead crawling though the maze of tubes that lined the playground. For a moment, she envied her daughter's carefree bliss, her freedom to run, the wind blowing through her hair. She shifted on the bench as she heard Harris clear her throat.

"Mrs. Richards, I am so sorry for-"

She held up her hand, turning slowly to look at the detective. "You know, I really _don't_ want to hear it."

Harris watched with bated breath as Olivia's hand rose, turning up the floppy brim of her hat. She squirmed, receiving the other woman's withering gaze, oozing with contempt. "You think you know my husband," she heard her say, her voice cracking. "You think you know all about our marriage." She watched Olivia stand, gripping the bench. "You know _nothing_ about us."

"Mrs. Richards," she began, jumping to her feet, "I-"

"_Jeannie, why did you make me move benches if you were going to stay where we were?"_

Both women turned, the bespectacled twelve-year-old giving them pause. He glanced at Olivia dismissively and glanced at his step-mother. "Sorry, Charlie," she said softly, grabbing her book from the bench. "I'm coming now."

She was about to step away when Olivia grabbed her arm. She grimaced, the other woman's icy fingers digging into her skin. "Whatever you think about us, you're wrong," Olivia whispered, looking deep into the detective's eyes. "Please…you have to help us."

Harris shook her head, confused. "What are you talking about, Mrs. Richards?" She stifled a cry as Olivia squeezed her hand, pressing something into her palm as she gripped it. "What- what are you doing?"

"Please," she gasped, her eyes pleading as a deep voice cut through the tense silence. "Help me."

"_Olivia, we need to leave. Now." _

The detective felt Olivia release her hand, shuddering as she watched Morris Stanton extend his hand to her. He shook his head, anticipating the question forming on her lips. "Have a nice day, Detective," he said, passing her as he led Olivia out of the playground, Caitlin skipping along side her mother. "By the way, your step-daughter gave her brother a black eye."

She turned, barely registering what he said as she watched them leave. Olivia never turned around, her hat firmly on her head to shield her face. She tightened her fists, the faint sound of paper crackling as she did. She looked down and opened her hand, revealing a crumpled piece of pale pink paper.

"Who was that, Jeannie?" Charlie asked, watching his step-mother sink down to the bench. "What did she want?"

Harris glanced up, looking blindly at the boys. "I'm not sure." She turned, watching the unlikely trio walk away. "I'm not sure at all anymore."

* * *

"Thank you."

"It's nothing."

Olivia sighed, the grass crunching beneath their feet as they walked through the park. "It wasn't nothing. You didn't have to tell me Jeannie Harris took her step-children to the park every Saturday."

"There was a time when Greg wanted to know everything about her. He thought she was the enemy that needed to be tracked." He sighed, shaking his head. "How wrong we were…and now, I've done the very thing he asked me _not_ to do." Stanton frowned, the sunlight dancing through the canopy of tree branches they walked under. "And, so did you." She shrugged, her hat obscuring her face. "Why?"

"Because I can. I'm his wife."

"Olivia-"

"Morris, I'm scared!" she exclaimed, turning to him. He reached out, gently turning the brim of her hat up. Tears filled her eyes, clinging to her eyelashes. Her throat worked as Caitlin stood solemnly beside her, watching with curious blue eyes. "You're right: he _is_ wrong. The police need to know about the letters - about everything." She shook her head as a sob rose in her throat and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I can't live like this anymore." He watched her wipe her face and turn back, staring through the trees to where the playground was. "Detective Harris is my last hope."

"Olivia-"

"Something's going to happen, Morris." She turned back to him, her eyes teary and broken, submitting to the beating she knew was inevitable. "I can feel it," she whispered.

"I told you, not on my watch."

She shook her head and looked up at the sky, puffy clouds dotting the blue. "No. A storm is coming."

* * *

"_Daddy, I'm home!"_

I hear her call, childlike excitement bordering on insanity. I set the box of documents aside and peer through partially open doorway. The crack in the door affords me an unobstructed view of the hallway and, if I strain my neck far enough, the foyer.

With a smile, I watch our girl dance excitedly before he comes in from the living room and swoops her into his arms. She shrieks with delight, throwing her arms around him before she buries her face in his neck. Tears come to my eyes and I sniffle, watching as he turns in a small circle with her in his arms. This is all I want, I realize. Him and her, together…their hands outstretched to me as I join them, the missing piece to our triangle.

They move out of sight and I gently push open the door, walking softly down the dark hall. Out of sight, I lean against the wall, my eyes closed as I listen to her regale him with tales from her adventure at the playground. His voice is a hushed whisper and I inch closer, struggling to hear.

A moment later, I hear our girl scamper through the foyer, her feet thudding on the steps as she runs upstairs.

* * *

Gregory watched Caitlin scamper up the stairs and turned to Olivia, watching her fiddle with the stereo. "I didn't know you were taking her. I would've come too."

She turned back to him, the soft jazz drifting out of the speakers as she forced a smiled to her lips and took off her hat. "That's alright, Darling. I know you had work to do." She gripped the arm of the sofa, wondering if he could read the deception on her face as he crossed the room to her. "You don't look like you got a lot of work done."

He shook his head, glancing down at his now-dry swim trunks. "Hardly any," he murmured, guilt churning in his stomach as the dark circles under her eyes imprinted in his memory. "I reminded my secretary it was Saturday and that I didn't need her."

"Again?" she asked, squirming as he cupped her face. She rested her hands on his bare chest, rising and falling with his breath.

"It doesn't matter." His thumbs ran across her cheekbones, sighing deeply as he felt her tremble. "She doesn't matter. My cases don't matter. _You_ matter."

* * *

My eyes fly open as my blood runs cold. I turn, my shoulder digging into the wall as I catch sight of them in the reflection of a mirror. He's holding her as she slumps against the arm of the sofa, partially hidden by him.

I barely feel the way my fingers dig into my palm, the ball of my fist jamming into my mouth. He's whispering to her, smoothing the hair back from her face. He steps aside and for a moment, I see her face. She's looking up at him, naked adoration glowing in her expression.

* * *

"I know that," she sighed, smiling up at him. He coaxed her to her feet and she obliged, relishing the way he held her hips, steadying her. "It was good to take in the fresh air though."

"Morris went with you?" he asked, the strains of a familiar song echoing around them. He took her hand and held her close, slowly dancing them around the living room.

"Of course." She smiled as he turned his face into her hair. _He didn't suspect anything_, she decided as she closed her eyes, letting the music and the way he hummed along with the song carry her away. "What are you going to do when the house is invaded this afternoon for the baby shower?"

He shrugged as she nuzzled his neck, her weight perfect against him. "Skulk around my study, avoiding all sounds of the women cooing over baby clothes." She chuckled, breathing in the scent of his sun-warmed flesh. "Do you remember the way we used to dance on _The Splendour_?" he asked softly, squeezing her hand.

She nodded, letting him lead her around the room. "On the deck for hours in the moonlight." With a smile, she looked up, pressing her cheek to his. "The only station we could get clearly on the radio was the one that played all that old music from the 40's." She looked up into his eyes, smiling as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Then, you would take me below deck and have your way with me."

"I thought it was _you_ who had your way with me?" he asked, making her giggle. She pushed herself up on her toes, their lips meeting quietly as the singer's crescendo wavered. Her arms curled around his neck as he drew her against him. And, she let him, savoring the brief moment when they were caught up in the dreams of yesterday and free of the nightmare that was today.

* * *

I pray for her death.

Instantaneous death that would strike her down and for a hole to appear in the floor, swallowing her up.

I am blinded by tears as my teeth sink into the fist wedged in my mouth. The lies he tells her are harder and harder to bear. I know he must appease her to spare his children, but it's cruel to give her such hope when the inevitable is nearly upon us. Not to mention that my patience for listening to him spout these beautiful untruths to her is wearing thin.

As if he could forsake me so easily.

With my free hand, I wipe the tears from my eyes and look back into the mirror. Revealing all, I see her in his arms, kissing him without abandon. And he lets her, holding her against him as he pulls her down to the sofa. They fall out of the mirror's sight and, luckily, mine as well.

But, I know.

I know because I can hear.

I submit to listening, hearing the way she gasps and he chuckles. I flinch when I hear the gentle sound of her clothes falling to the ground, the leather giving way beneath them.

Moaning and laughing.

Sighing and grunting.

I slide to the floor, my teeth sinking into my flesh, drawing blood. She goes too far and he lets her, too afraid of letting her win and take the children. She'll never be gone. He'll never be free of her. We'll never be free of her.

Never.


	38. Sunlight

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 38: "Sunlight"

"They're here, Daddy! They're here!"

Gregory followed his daughter to the front door and opened it. "Settle down, Caity," he said, looking up into the eager smiles of his wife's two friends. "Ladies, good afternoon."

"Gregory," Bette said, offering him a small but polite smile as she ushered Annie into the house. "Come on girls, we've got a lot of decorating to do."

Paula Stevens followed behind them, juggling two large shopping bags filled to the brim with balloons and streamers. Elaine came in last, clutching a large covered dish. "Hello, Gregory."

He nodded, closing the door behind them. Caitlin danced after them, watching as Bette placed Emily's car seat on the floor. "I get to come to the party for our new baby!" she jabbered, watching with wide eyes as Bette unloaded the bags.

"Well, of course you get to come! You're the big sister!" Bette smiled down at her as she took her by the hand and led her over to Paula and Annie. "But you three go outside and play while we get everything ready."

"Bette, I'll be in the kitchen," Elaine called out as she disappeared down the hall.

Gregory followed the girls out to the patio and stood in the doorway, his hands deep in his pockets. He watched the girls run down to the grass, Caitlin's golden hair streaming in the sunlight. From the doors that led to the dining room, he saw one of Morris' men step out and lean against the door jamb, watching the girls. Satisfied, he turned back into the house as Bette said, "Where's Livy?"

"Upstairs, taking a nap."

She nodded, unwrapping a roll of yellow crepe paper. "She feeling alright?"

He nodded as she glanced up, her eyebrow arched. "Fine. Just…tired." His thigh brushed against the sofa and he sat on the arm, remembering the way Olivia gasped in his arms. The way she caressed his face, kissing him deeply as his hands cupped her bottom.

Bette watched a small smirk unfold on his face as he gazed blindly at the sofa. "Tired, hmm?"

He glanced up to see her green eyes sparkle. "Yes," he said, standing. "Her doctor told her to get a little exercise."

She couldn't help but chuckle as she began folding the strands of yellow and white crepe paper together. "I doubt Doc Robinson had _that_ kind of exercise in mind."

Gregory only smiled in reply as he stood, walking past her. "I'll leave you to your decorations," he said. His hand was on the banister when he turned back to her. "Thank you for doing this for Liv." She nodded, a brief smile gracing her lips before she turned back to the streamers.

He climbed the stairs quickly, the carpet runner swallowing his steps. The door to his bedroom yielded with barely a creak as he opened it slowly. Making his way quietly to the bed, he saw Olivia breathing deeply. A beam of sunlight held her in its grasp, her dark hair flowing around her on the pillow.

Slowly, he leaned over her, kissing her forehead. Her lips parted as she sighed in her sleep, her cheeks blushed to a healthy rose-colored hue. He crouched next to the bed, his hand covering hers. Her chest rose and fell evenly and he sighed in relief as he smoothed the blanket covering her. "I love you," he whispered, tucking her hand beneath the folds.

He watched her as she slept peacefully, finally free and content from the waking hours that haunted them. He imagined the way her eyes opened, the blue glazed over with sleep as she smiled up at him. The way she reached up, her fingers combing through his hair to cup his face. The way her hand felt on his cheek and the way he leaned into the warmth, willing to surrender himself to her for eternity. The way it felt when she looked at him, lavishing him with love and adoration. The way her lips curled when she spoke three simple words, words that still had the power to stop his heart in his chest.

"I love you," he repeated under his breath. "More than life."

* * *

Jeannie Harris leaned back into the cushions, exhaling deeply. The quiet of the house surrounded and weighed down on her. Oppressive. With a grimace, she pressed her fingertips into her temples, rubbing gently. Icy pain shot through her skull, making her grimace as a pair of frightened blue eyes haunted her.

She sat forward, her head in her hands as she leaned over her knees. Her eyes narrowed as she read the letter again, her lips silently forming the words written on the pale pink stationery.

_You're all mine again. Mine and mine alone. No one else can take you away from me again._

_No one._

She reached out, gently tracing the edge of the letter with her fingertip. "What does it mean?" she sighed, drawn to the last sentences again and again, like an alcoholic to the bottle. "Why did you give this to me?"

_Whatever you think about us, you're wrong._

She flinched, Olivia's wounded voice ringing out like a cry in the night. In an instant, she was back at the park, gazing into the eyes of the woman she was convinced was a murder twice over.

Maybe.

Her own dark eyes flew open as a mind-bending revelation washed over her like a wave. Dizzy, she sat back and closed her eyes, hiding from the disturbing pink letter. She breathed deep, her chest rising and falling shakily. Yet, with each breath, a profound truth grew in her: she was wrong.

Olivia Richards was innocent. Somehow, she knew it. There was no proof. Indeed, the evidence she had more than strongly made the case that the woman killed her husband's secretary and his mistress. Yet, Jeannie's hand tingled from when Olivia had gripped it, clandestinely passing her the pink letter. Held her hand and begged for help…like a victim, not a perpetrator.

_Help me._

Like a mother, terrified for her children.

_You have to help us. _

Like a woman, terrified for herself…and her husband.

She shrugged, her mind suddenly clear and open to a strange possibility. If Olivia was innocent, why couldn't Gregory be too?

An uncomfortable feeling twisted in her stomach and she stood slowly, hugging herself. Everything was muddled up, through and through. All of those psychology classes, putting herself through the grinding schedule of night school and for what? To blow her first big opportunity because of her own nerves and delusions.

"I let the case get away from me," she whispered, looking down at the pink letter. What was it at its core? A double homicide, both victims stabbed to death. And, they had Gregory Richards in common. But that was it. Or was it?

_Mine and mine alone. No one else can take you away from me again._

It was a woman's handwriting. Olivia's? She paused for a long moment, listening to her gut instinct. No, it couldn't be. It was too…messy to be the handwriting of Olivia Richards. But, validation was easy enough to prove. Olivia's handwriting was on file, along with her statements on Nancy and Cashlin's murders.

There was no way to prove her sudden change of heart. In an instant, Olivia went from prime suspect to innocent. But, Jeannie knew it. She felt it in her bones, radiating from the core of her soul.

And she knew she _had_ to make it right. She reached for the phone, dialing a familiar number. "Morales?" she said, slipping the pink letter into a plastic evidence bag. "I know it's our afternoon off, but I need you to meet me at the station."

* * *

The breeze is gentle against me, my feet sinking into the warm sand as I stand still. Ahead of me, the ocean roared, foamy mist spraying in the air as the strong waves crashed into the shore.

Around me, I was lost in a sea of people. Spectators filled the beach, waiting for the line of sailboats to make their way out of the marina. The annual regatta was one of the town's biggest events and always drew a sizable crowd.

I turn slowly, ignoring the cheer that goes up as the first boat appeared in the bay. The three-story house stood magnificent, palm trees lining the patio like sentries. Through the gate, I could see the pool glistening like a sapphire in the sunlight. It pulls me in and I let it, lost in the lure of it's sparkle.

The crowd falls away from me as I near the house, hugging the wall as I follow the perimeter of the property. On the other side, I hear the laughter of little girls, one of them saying, _"Ok, I'm It now. Go hide."_

"_Come on, Caitlin," _I hear another say and my heart flips, listening as giggling faded away.

"Yes," I whisper, my hands brushing against the lock of the side gate. "Come, Caitlin. Come to me."

* * *

"You're awake."

Olivia glanced over her shoulder to find her husband standing in the doorway of their bedroom. She nodded, running a brush through her hair as he crossed the room to her. His warm hands rested on her shoulders as she turned back to the mirror. "I didn't think I'd sleep that long," she admitted softly as his hands gently massaged her.

"Oh, I'd say you earned it."

Their eyes met in the mirror, amusement coloring her voice as she said, "You mean I _worked_ for it."

He chuckled, his hands dropping down to her bare arms. "Whatever," he chuckled beneath his breath as she looked up, her head falling back. He leaned down, her lips warm as he captured them. A moment later he felt her hands on his face, drawing him closer. "What do you say," he asked between a kiss, "we sneak out the back door and escape to _The Splendour_?"

She sighed dreamily as she pushed herself away from the table and turned on the bench to face him. "Oh, Bette and Elaine would _never_ forgive me," she explained, reaching out for his hands.

He fell to his knees before her, pressing her hands to her belly and covering them with his own. The child within her kicked eagerly and he couldn't help but smile, looking up. "See? She agrees with me."

"Tomorrow," she promised, their fingers threading together. She watched him for a long moment, his expression drawn as he looked back at her. Gently, she cupped his face and looked deep into his bloodshot eyes as his fingers grazed her knees. "You're exhausted," she said softly and she felt him start against her.

He shrugged and was about to dismiss her observation when he saw the concern brimming in her eyes. "A little," he admitted reluctantly, her fingertips dancing along his hairline.

She nodded, combing through his hair as she listened to him sigh. "There. That wasn't so hard to admit, was it?" she asked softly, a small grin coming to her face. Her arms curled around his neck as he stood, helping her up. His face screwed up as she rested her palms on his chest. "Hmm?"

"I just want to make you happy," he whispered as her hands covered his heart.

"Honesty makes me happy." She leaned against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Try and get some rest, Gregory. Please?"

He kissed her forehead, willing to give her the moon and stars if it pleased her. "That's all?"

She looked up, gazing at him with such intensity that his chest tightened. Her skin was luminous, free of make-up and glowing in the afternoon sunlight. "For now," she finally said, comfortable and warm in his embrace. "Promise me?"

"Yes," he said, leaning forward to kiss her nose. "I'll get you settled downstairs and then I'll get some sleep."

"Thank you, darling," she said, leaning against him as he led her out of the bedroom. His arm went around her, hugging her close as they walked down the hall and began the slow descent to the first floor. "Make sure you make yourself a plate though," she said turning to him as the staircase turned sharply. "You need to eat too."

He chuckled as she gripped the banister. "Should I eat first? Or sleep?"

She cocked her head, her brow furrowed as she smirked at him. "Sleep, of course. It would be awful if you passed out from exhaustion and landed face first in your lunch."

"Of course," he agreed graciously. She shook her head indulgently as they stepped onto the first floor. The living room was transformed, full of balloons and streamers in delicate pastel shades. "All you need is the Easter bunny," he muttered beneath his breath and she poked him in the side. "What?"

"Bette, it looks _lovely_," Olivia called out. She watched as her friend turned around, her face pale. "It really does and- are you alright?"

"Livy…"

Gregory looked past Bette as Elaine came in from the patio, looking grave. On either side of her was Paula and Annie, their eyes wide and frightened. An ominous feeling twisted in his stomach as he looked at the young girls. "Where's Caitlin?"

Olivia watched her two friends exchange a long glance before Bette finally stepped forward, twisting her hands. Next to her, she felt Gregory stiffen and she turned to him, confused. "Livy," she heard her friend begin and she turned back to her, listening as she explained, "we called the girls in. We wanted to get them cleaned up and changed into new clothes before the guests started to arrive."

His heart pounded in his chest and he looked down at his wife, watching as realization flickered in her face. "Only Paula and Annie came in," he heard Bette say as his wife stepped away from him.

She brushed past her friend, her hands trembling as she made her way through the living room to the patio. "Caity hates having to come in. She always puts up a fight," she stuttered, still wanting to believe as she stood in the open doorway. "Caitlin!"

The sunlight was warm on her as she stepped outside, her bare feet curling on the sun-warmed stone. She heard her voice echo for a moment before it was swallowed up by the gentle wind. Her throat tightened as her eyes swept the patio, the outdoor space eerily silent and deserted. "Caitlin!" she called again, her pitch rising.

From inside the house, she heard Gregory call out for Morris and her chest began to ache as she struggled to catch her breath. "C-Caitlin! CAITLIN!"


	39. Aftermath

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 39: "Aftermath"

Morris Stanton believed in the power of silence. Silence more often than not had the power to say more than words. It was more than golden; it was profound. It was telling. Silence was observance. He stood quietly, his arms folded against his broad chest as Gregory paced the length of the living room. When the cord would stretch tight, he would about face and start in the other direction. Walk, turn, repeat.

"She's a four year old child!" he growled into the phone. "She's not a teenager who snuck out to meet her friends! Someone _took_ her!"

As Gregory argued with his contact at the FBI's L.A. field office, Morris turned to the sofa. Olivia sat at the far end, frozen and pale as she gazed blindly before her. She had barely uttered a word since coming back from the patio. Her frantic calls to her child came back unanswered, her daughter's name empty syllables on her lips. He watched her hand come to her throat and she winced, struggling to swallow. "Here, Livy," he heard Bette say, watching as she held a glass up to her. "Drink this."

Olivia took the glass, holding it passively as she turned slowly. "We have to call everyone," she murmured as one of the twisted streamers detached from the ceiling and floated sadly to the floor. "They need to know the baby shower is canceled."

"Shh," she said, jumping as Gregory shouted at the person on the other end of the line. "Don't you worry about all that. Lainie is taking care of it."

She nodded blandly, barely reacting when her husband slammed the phone down. "Harvey's coming down and he's informing the police. They'll be responding shortly." Gregory ran his hand angrily through his hair, sighing deeply. He looked up at Morris and snapped, "What did you find out?"

No matter how Morris delivered the news, he knew his friend would not react well. With a careful inhale, he said simply, "Matthews left the girls alone for-"

"He's fired."

Olivia looked up slowly, hearing the deadly anger in her husband's voice. His face was stone, but she could see the tension in his jaw and the pulsing vein in his neck. A chill went through her and she shuddered as Morris continued, "He came into the house to throw out his cigarette butts."

A cloak of silence fell over the room and Bette reached for Olivia's hand, not liking the storm brewing in Gregory's face. "Are you telling me," he spat out, his hands clenching to tight fists, "that my daughter is missing because your man was too busy _cleaning up _after himself?"

He opened his mouth to respond when Olivia moaned, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "It's my fault," she murmured, looking from her friend to Gregory. Nausea rose in her throat as he crouched in front of her, his hands on her thighs. "Oh God, it's _my_ fault."

"Liv, it is not-"

"It is," she cried, ice running through her veins as he rubbed her legs. "The other day, I- I told him to clean them up. He was leaving them all over the patio. Caity plays there and…" she sighed, turning her face into her shoulder as a sob consumed her. She didn't see it, but, then again, she didn't need to. She felt Gregory's irritated frown just as clearly as she felt his hands slow to a stop.

He stood abruptly, looking up at Morris. "He's still fired," he snapped. "Keep him here for the police, but get him out of my sight." His wife's quiet sobbing tore through him and his lungs constricted. Slowly, he reached out and cupped her head. "This isn't your fault, Liv," he said softly. "It's not."

* * *

"Have you lost your mind, Harris?"

Harris shook her head and turned back to the pile of documents in front of her. "Look at the handwriting! This letter wasn't written by Olivia Richards!"

Morales sighed and rubbed his bleary eyes. The pink letter sat on the table, quiet and unassuming in the evidence bag. With the tip of his finger, he pulled it closer and he read it again. Whereas his partner saw a damning letter, he saw open holes. "Harris," he began, shaking his head slowly, "this means nothing."

"_Nothing?"_

"Come on! It's not even addressed to anyone!" He pushed it back to her and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. "You've been at this for over an hour and I just don't buy it."

"But, the letter-"

"What? What about this all-important letter?" He waved his hand dismissively, irritation bubbling to the surface. "There's _nothing_ in it. Hell, for all we know, Olivia Richards wrote it herself when she found out her husband was cheating on her and she left it for him to find."

Harris shook her head, not buying it. "The handwriting-"

"Anger does funny things to a person, including making their handwriting look different."

"Maybe. But, you didn't see Olivia Richards this morning. She's a wreck."

"Of course she's a wreck! We think she murdered two women!"

Quietly, she admitted, "I don't. Not anymore."

He grimaced and leaned forward, staring eye-to-eye. "And, like I just asked: have you lost your mind?" She gazed back at him stonily, unwilling to bend. "Harris," he said softly, giving in to the tender approach, "we're both stressed out of our minds. This case has taken on a life of its own. But-"

"_Good, you're both here." _

They looked up and stood at the same time as Chief Raymond Briscoe strode in, shrugging into his suit coat. "You know, I hate the goddamn FBI," he grunted, smoothing his tie down. "They ride in like the cavalry, like we don't have a clue as to how to run an investigation." He looked up, his expression grim as he looked from Morales to Harris. "Special Agent Leonard Harvey just called to inform me that Gregory Richards' daughter was kidnapped."

Harris' stomach flipped as she listened to the Chief, his words dulling to a quiet roar. The child had been fine this morning, running carefree and happily through the playground. Later, the child stood next to her mother, looking up with large blue eyes. Olivia had begged for help and she let her go, taking no action until later. When it was too _late_ to make a difference. "Chief, I've _got_ to talk to Olivia Richards."

"Are you out of your mind?" Briscoe said incredulously and she couldn't help but wince. "Do you remember what happened the last time you saw that woman? She passed out and was put on bed rest!"

"Chief, _trust_ me. New evidence has come to light and this kidnapping is related to our murders." She spun around, grabbed the letter and held it out to him. "Look at this. Olivia Richards gave it to me earlier this morning. She begged me to help her and said that we had it all wrong." He was quiet as he read the letter and she repeated, "I _need_ to speak with her."

"Harris-"

"Chief, it makes sense! We always felt there was more that Olivia Richards knew, that she wasn't saying. A wife will protect her husband, but she'll _die_ for her child. She was ready to come clean this morning and now, with her daughter missing, well…I think she'll talk to me. She trusts me."

"I don't know what this is," Briscoe finally said and she heard the finality in his tone. "But you are working the McCarthy/Russell murders. You are _not_ working the Richards kidnapping." He dropped the letter back onto the desk and gazed sternly at her. "You're already on thin ice with Gregory Richards. Stay _away_ from this, Harris."

* * *

I have the windows down in the car and a warm, yet refreshing breeze, rushes in. Our hair stirs, my short blonde hair and my daughter's longer blonde hair dancing together on the wind. The radio is on and she chimes in on the song's chorus, the only part she knows.

"_Upside down, boy you turn me inside out," _she sings, her little head bobbing as she swings her legs. _"And round and round. Upside down…" _

The road stretches endless before us, the glitter of the Pacific to our left.

Time is ours.

* * *

One Ocean Avenue was a circus, a dozen cruisers and unmarked cars cluttering the street. Police officers milled around, keeping an irritated distance from the FBI agents that arrived on-scene and were holding court in the driveway. Harris walked quickly up the street, flashing her badge to bypass the fragile barrier the police had on the crowd that was quickly forming. As she ducked beneath the police tape, she noticed Tim Kelly on the sidewalk, furiously scribbling in his notepad as he listened to one of the officers.

At the foot of the driveway, she turned abruptly and ducked behind one of the black-and-white cruisers. She inched up slowly, peering through the car windows as Briscoe came down the driveway with a group of men. FBI, she suspected, her eyes moving over their pressed suits. They passed by quickly and as they climbed into a waiting car, she stood and continued up the driveway to the house.

The front door was unlocked and a small cluster of police officers stood in the foyer, huddled together. "Harris," one of them said in surprise. "Didn't think we'd see you here."

She nodded, nearing them as she glanced around. The open floor plan allowed her to see Olivia sitting on the sofa, a blanket draped over her as she gazed down at the floor. Several FBI agents stood around, intimidating with their grim expressions. "Briscoe called me. I just passed him on my way in." They nodded and she patted the closest one on his shoulder as she stepped into the living room.

Despite the number of people in the living room, the space was oddly still. Conversation took place in hushed tones and movement was easy and deliberate. Sitting in the center of the frozen hurricane was Olivia and she moved silently, crouching next to her. "Mrs. Richards?" she asked softly. The woman looked up slowly, turning to Harris without seeing her. "You asked for my help earlier. Tell me what I can do."

Olivia swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she met the detective's concerned eyes. Was it just this morning that she cornered her at the playground, using Caitlin's playtime as an excuse to see her? Time warped, twisting and churning into an indecipherable mess. She nodded and didn't notice the way the detective flinched when she took her hand. "My little girl…" she whispered, the enormity of the moment weighing down on her. Her daughter was gone and it was her fault. Despite what Gregory said, she played a role in the day's awful events.

"The police and FBI are looking for her," she said softly, Olivia's icy fingers wrapped around her own. The redhead next to her watched them curiously, her arm around the distraught pregnant woman.

"She took her."

Harris leaned in and nodded encouragingly. The woman's quiet statement seemed shockingly loud in the silence of the living room. "Who, Mrs. Richards?"

She shook her head, rubbing her forehead as she struggled to explain. She needed to start at the beginning. But, when was that? When Gregory started receiving the letters? When Cashlin was murdered? When Gregory had an affair? When they lost the baby? "I- I don't know," she sighed, closing her eyes as her head collapsed in her hand.

Bette rubbed her back, listening as the detective said, "Yes, Mrs. Richards, you do. You're the only one who does." The detective was gentle, speaking in a low tone. "And, Caitlin needs you. She needs you to tell me what you've been holding back all these weeks."

Olivia looked up slowly, her eyes glassy as an odd sensation twitched in her stomach. "Please, promise me: you'll bring my baby girl home." She watched the detective, her eyes as dark as coal. With a sigh, she leaned forward and began the long walk down the road of no return. "The letter. You saw it?"

"Yes. What does it mean?"

"Gregory's been getting them for months. He doesn't know who's sending them. But, that woman killed Cashlin and now," she sighed, a sob catching in her throat as she squeezed the detective's hand, "she's taken Caity!"

"Livy, what are you say-" Bette began, only to be interrupted by Harris.

"Who's writing the letters?"

"I don't know. No one does," she moaned, her skin crawling as visions of her daughter lying in a pool of blood lurked in her mind. "Oh God…Caity…" She shook her head violently, struggling to catch her breath as the dam on her emotions broke. A heart-wrenching sob consumed her and she raised her hands to her face, crying into them with infinite desperation.

"_What the hell is going on?"_

All but Olivia looked up as Gregory and Morris came in from the study. His face was a mask of fury and Harris stood slowly, watching him carefully. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled at her as he reached the sofa.

Slowly, Olivia's hands fell from her face and she looked up, tears staining her cheeks as she answered, "I told her about the letters."

Morris looked from the detective, to Olivia and back to Gregory, wisely moving between them. "You _what_?" he heard Gregory say, irritation licking at his question.

"Gregory, _please_! Our daughter's life is in danger!" she cried, her face flushing as she threw the blanket off and pushed herself up. "This has to stop! The secrets have got to stop! For Caity's sake!"

"Liv-"

Bette's horrified gasp interrupted him, hanging in the silence like an icicle as she gazed down at the sofa. "Oh my God!"

They turned, looking down at the plush sofa. The leather had softened with use over the years, but the tan material had lost none of it's luster. Five sets of eyes couldn't miss the small pool of crimson in the middle of the cushion and Harris was the first to look away, turning her attention to Olivia. The crotch of the pregnant woman's linen trousers were stained a horrifying shade of red. As she gasped, Gregory turned to his wife and saw the blood seeping through her pants. "Liv," he whispered, grasping her arm.

She looked down and flinched, her once-white pants discolored and sticky. Caitlin's blood, her own. It made no difference. Everything was falling apart and disintegrating into a putrid mess. She turned back to the sofa, her head spinning at the sight of her own blood as she heard Gregory shout for someone to call the doctor. "Gregory," she murmured, feeling another twinge in her belly, "what's happening?"

He looked back at her, unable to say a word. Nothing came. All he could do was look at her confused face as the faint metallic tinge of blood filled the air. She pressed her hand to her stomach, uncertainty giving way to a wince as she moaned, "Not again. Oh, Gregory, not _again_."

* * *

_A/N: Caitlin is singing the Diana Ross song "Upside Down" (written by Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards). _


	40. Drowning in Blame

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 40: "Drowning in Blame"

_Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen. _- Hebrews 11:1

The hall outside the exam room was quiet, deserted even. But, that fact barely registered to Gregory. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded tight across his chest. Behind him, on the other side of a closed door, was his wife. Olivia's hysterical sobbing bisected the door and wall, ringing in his ears with the clarity of church bells.

He had done this.

He failed to protect his wife from the mess he had made of their lives. He failed to protect his daughter and his unborn child. He had failed to protect his family, the most precious gift he'd been blessed with and the only thing he loved in this wretched world. He bore each of Olivia's sobs like a knife in his heart and knowing that he was worthy of each wound. With a sigh, he looked up, his wife's name a whisper on his lips as the door swung open.

"Mr. Richards," Dr. Robinson sighed as he scribbled a note onto Olivia's chart and passed it to the nurse. The other man stood tall, wary and bracing himself for the worst. "Your wife is still hemorrhaging."

"Can you stop it?"

"Not in this case. The abdominal ultrasound indicated the hemorrhaging is due to placenta abruption. That means it is detaching from your wife's uterus. In light of your wife's last miscarriage and the complications she's suffered with this pregnancy, I'm recommending an emergency Caesarean section."

He stood numbly, absorbing and comprehending the doctor's words. "The baby can't be born today. It's too soon. Olivia wasn't due until early March."

The doctor closed the door to the exam room and gestured the other man closer. "Mr. Richards, your baby is in distress. If your baby _isn't_ born today, he or she will die. Your wife will miscarry again." He watched as the other man's jaw clenched and he looked away, his throat working. "South Bay has an excellent Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and, though your child will have a long recovery, I'm confident he or she will survive."

Gregory's heart raced and he ran his hand nervously through his hair. The impending threat of another miscarriage. It was Olivia's worst nightmare come to life. They were living this hell a second time. "Alright," he finally sighed, turning back to the doctor. "May I see my wife?"

"Of course," Dr. Robinson said, turning to open the door to the exam room. "The anesthesiologist will be down shortly to administer the sedative. You can stay with her until then."

He walked into the small exam room, his eyes adjusting to the bright overhead lights. Olivia lay on the hospital bed, already changed into a pale blue cotton gown. Tears stained her flushed face as she twisted on the bed, clutching her stomach. "Darling, it's too soon," she moaned, a sob welling in her throat as he came to her bedside.

"Mrs. Richards, I need to restart your IV line," the nurse announced before she turned to Gregory and lowered her voice. "Please try to keep her calm, if for no other reason than to set her mind at ease so she doesn't knock out the line again."

He nodded and turned back to his wife as the nurse took hold of her right arm. Gently, he cupped her face and turned her away gaze from the nurse. His thumbs grazed her cheeks as she hiccupped, looking up at him with terrified eyes. "It's too soon," she repeated, wincing as the needle went into her arm.

"Sweetheart, listen to me," he whispered. His voice broke and he glanced away for a moment, clearing his throat. It was all falling apart and this was all they had. He looked back at her, his voice steady again over her heaving chest. "I need you to be strong for the baby." She began to shake her head and he gently continued, "You're the _only_ one who can help him or her now."

"But, I'm not strong," she cried, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. Her free hand came up to his wrist and he winced at her icy grip. "I'm _not_."

The nurse looked away and focused on keeping her patient's IV line in as she heard the woman's husband whisper, "You are. You're strongest person I know." The bed shifted as the husband leaned over, pressing his lips to his wife's forehead as he murmured, "You're stronger than me."

Olivia closed her eyes as she shook her head. "We can't lose this baby," she finally whispered. "Not another one. Not if Caity-"

"We're _not_ losing this baby, Liv. And, I'm going to bring Caity back to you," he insisted as his voice cracked and she opened her eyes slowly. Her blue irises were infused with heartbreak and he would've given his life to end her suffering. "She'll be here when you wake up and to meet her new brother or sister. I promise."

Her lips disappeared into a thin line as she swallowed a sob. From behind Gregory, a second nurse and a bearded doctor appeared, clutching a capped syringe. "Mrs. Richards, I'm Dr. Solomon, your anesthesiologist."

"Mr. Richards, will you come with me?" the nurse asked.

"No, Darling! No! Wait!" Olivia gasped, gripping his hand. "I- I decided on names. Grace Edel or Sean Thomas." A crooked smile came to his face as she urgently continued, "Make sure the nurse knows that when she takes the baby to the nursery."

"I will. They're perfect names, Liv." Slowly, he leaned in and kissed her, her lips trembling and dry. "I love you."

"I love you too," she murmured, reluctantly letting his hand slip away.

Gregory let the nurse lead him out of the room and saw her smile reassuringly before she closed the door to the exam room. He exhaled deeply and looked around, finding himself back in the quiet hallway. Only he wasn't alone this time. Harris leaned against the nurse's station, her elbows resting on the counter as she looked back at him. "What are you doing here?" he snapped, anger rising within him to cover the helpless frustration he felt.

"I was concerned about Mrs. Richards and-"

"My wife doesn't need your concern. You are the _last_ thing she needs."

Harris nodded, clenching her hands to tight fists to stop them from trembling. "Perhaps. But, _you_ should've told us about the letters weeks ago." She watched as he recoiled, his eyes widening as he prepared to launch a retort. "Your wife didn't need _that_ either." He stiffened and she saw an indescribable expression, something resembling guilt, dance across his face.

Behind them, the double doors that led to the Emergency Room's waiting area flew open and Morales strode through. He looked between Harris and Gregory, their gazes smoldering as they turned to him. "Has my daughter been found?" Gregory asked, breaking the silence.

"No, Sir. I'm sorry." He turned to his partner and explained, "Morris Stanton brought me up to speed on the letters. We've checked out both secretaries. Maria Tong has been at the marina all day watching her husband compete in the regatta. More than a dozen witnesses vouch for her. Ruth Runyon, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. Her neighbors haven't seen her since this morning."

Gregory turned away, hearing the door to the exam room open. The nurses pushed the hospital bed through and he went to it, walking down the hall with them. "Everything's going to be alright, Sweetheart," he said to Olivia. She nodded weakly and looked back at him through half-closed eyes. "I'll be there when you wake up."

"Don't worry, Mr. Richards. She's in excellent hands," the nurse whispered as they stepped into a waiting elevator. "I'll make sure you're kept informed."

He nodded, his wife disappearing from sight as the doors closed tight. A hand touched his arm and he flinched, looking over. A slight woman, wearing the bright yellow smock that signified she was a hospital volunteer, smiled at him and said, "There's a chapel on the second floor, if you would like to wait there."

The muscles of his stomach clenched and he jerked his arm away, giving in to the anger that coursed through him. "I don't believe in God," he snapped, glowering at the older woman. "I believe in Olivia."

* * *

Harris watched silently as Gregory brushed past them and disappeared out into the waiting area. She exhaled deeply and turned to Morales, her black eyes pained. "You alright?" he asked as she pressed her hands to her cheeks.

"I can't help but think this is all my fault," she confessed, unburdening the painful secret she had carried with her for weeks. "I was too tough on Olivia Richards when I questioned her on New Year's Day. I kept after her, even when she was on bed rest. What if I-"

"Harris," he sighed, "this isn't your fault."

"How do you know?" She looked away, wringing her hands as she continued, "Everything Gregory Richards said to me was true. I was hard on her, bullied her. And all the while-"

"Stop! You were being a cop, and a damn good one. We're going to make this case because of you."

She turned back to Olivia's now-empty exam room, watching the deserted interior for a long moment. "But, at what cost?"

* * *

Morris Stanton folded his arms and looked out over the living room. It was like opposing sides of a battle with the FBI agents on one side and members of the SBPD on the other. With a grimace, he watched as two delegates from each side conferred over a map of the town, laying out their search. Every so often, a team would radio in and another section of the map would be colored in. Hours had gone by and there was little to report on Caitlin's whereabouts.

"How can there be _nothing_ on Ruth Runyon?" he heard one of the police officers ask.

It was like the woman was a ghost. She existed only as a Social Security Number. Her tax returns checked out and she was the owner of a modest savings account. But, there was nothing else of her. No credit card statement so they could track the places she frequented. No known family or friends to speak with.

"She lives off the grid," he muttered and one of the FBI agents looked up, nodding. "You think she's the only one? There's a whole mess of-"

"_It's the girl!"_

Morris turned to the patio, watching as the agents and officers flocked to the door. He pushed his way through them and stepped outside, blinking in the twilight. A small group of people huddled by the steps that led down to the beach and he hurried to it, hearing the sound of a child crying.

"Mooooooommy!" Caitlin wailed, hot tears streaming down her face as she stood in the middle of a group of adults she didn't know. "I want my mommy!"

* * *

Harris shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, the holster of her gun digging into her hip. She was too on edge to be comfortable and resigned herself to checking in with the task force at One Ocean Avenue every hour. Across the room, Gregory sat quietly, hunched over his knees with his head bowed. She watched him as he toyed with his wedding ring, turning the simple gold band into infinity.

Next to her, Morales sat up and said through a yawn, "You know, I'm still trying to figure out what Briscoe is going to say about all this." She nodded, but kept on staring at Gregory. He was rubbing his face, his eyes exhausted as her partner continued, "The first thing he's going to ask is how you got close enough to Olivia Richards when he ordered you to stay away from her."

"I didn't," she said as Gregory looked up, hearing his wife's name pass between them. "She found me this morning and gave me the letter."

"What?" The looked over as Gregory sat up, frowning in confusion. "Where? Where did Olivia see you?"

Harris paused for a moment before responding, "The playground. She was there with your daughter and saw me."

Gregory sat back, mulling over the detective's answer. He recalled Olivia did take Caitlin to the playground. He was coming in from the patio when they came home. "Was Morris Stanton with her?" he asked, his mind racing as he anticipated her answer. She nodded and his frown deepened. It wasn't an accident that Olivia saw Harris this morning. Not if she had one of the letters with her.

She lied.

She lied to him. Nothing more clearly demonstrated that she'd lost her faith in him. She didn't trust him to take care of her and their family anymore. She sought out Jeannie Harris. She gave her one of the letters. She told her the truth about everything. Like a lightening bolt, he realized he'd fallen from grace. And without her faith in him, he was lost.

"_Greg."_

With a shiver, he looked up at the sound of Morris' voice. A relieved sigh gushed from him as he saw his daughter in his friend's arms. "Caity," he murmured, pulling the half-asleep child against his chest. He hugged her close, breathing her in as she wrapped her heavy arms around his neck. "Where did you find her?"

Harris and Morales stood, watching the unfolding scene with great interest. "She was left on the beach," they heard the private detective say, "and she found her way home."

An absurd chuckle rose in his throat as he kissed his daughter's head, turning her face up to his. "Caity, where were you?"

The little girl blinked her glassy blue eyes at her father and yawned widely. Her cheeks and nose were stained pink, evidence of too much time spent in the sunshine. "A big boat," she said, rubbing her eyes with her fists. "The lady took me."

As she lay her ahead on Gregory's shoulder, he looked up at Morris, who continued, "That's all we've been able to get out of her. The police and FBI have an alert out on Ruth, but-"

"Mr. Richards?" The small group turned as Dr. Robinson walked into the waiting room. His green scrubs clung to him, unavoidable sweat stains beneath the armpits. But, the doctor was smiling. "Congratulations, you have a son."

His grasp tightened around Caitlin as the breath caught in his throat. "Olivia?"

"Mrs. Richards needed a blood transfusion as a result of the hemorrhaging, but she came through the surgery fine. She's in Recovery now so the nurses can monitor her as she comes out of the anesthesia. You'll be able to see her in a few hours when she's transferred to a room on the Maternity floor. I'm very confident she'll make a full recovery."

"And, the baby? My…son?"

Harris held her breath as the doctor began gravely, "Well, as we discussed earlier, your son was born six weeks premature. His lungs aren't fully developed yet and I've admitted him to the NICU. He'll need special care and close monitoring for-"

His hand rested in the middle of his daughter's back as he listened to the doctor explain all the health ailments burdening the fragile newborn. His son. "Will he live?" he asked softly. Dr. Robinson paused noticeably and in an instant, Gregory knew. He'd seen that face before, two years ago when the doctor gently explained Olivia had miscarried their first son.

"I'm still confident he will," the doctor said carefully, "but I must caution you: this little boy has a tough road ahead."

"His name is Sean," he said after a moment, remembering the way Olivia whispered the name to him. "Sean Thomas Richards. Will you let the nurses know?" He watched the doctor nod before he left and he looked down at Caitlin, her eyes wide as he explained, "You have a little brother, Caity."

"Where is he?" She glanced around the waiting area, looking for the baby. "I want to see our baby."

"Later," he murmured, kissing her forehead as ice dripped in his stomach. "He's not feeling well and the doctor needs to take care of him."

* * *

_A/N: Though I am __severely ashamed__ it's taken me more than seven years to get to this point, I am no less pleased to say that only four chapters remain of this story. If you have stuck with this story of mine for all these years, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and promise the remaining chapters will be posted in fairly quick order. Here's a sneak peek of what's still to come:_

_- "I'm waiting for Olivia."  
__- "Tell Gregory I'll love him always."  
__- "No matter what I did, it was the wrong thing."  
__- "I remember everything about that one wild night we spent together."_


	41. Servatis A Periculum

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 41: "Servatis A Periculum"

Tim Kelly rushed through the courtyard of his apartment complex, soft yellow-orange lights guiding his way. The water of the community pool glowed ethereally, casting odd shadows that wrinkled the surrounding buildings. He rasped for breath as he mounted the staircase, hurrying up to his second floor apartment. His neighbor's dog began to bark as he passed, a grating yap that would no doubt have him banging on their shared wall if the little ankle biter kept it up.

But, for right now, he didn't care. He had work to do.

He reached in his pocket for his key ring, the keys jingling as he fumbled with the lock. His small apartment was shrouded in darkness and he fumbled for the light switch. "Let there be light," he muttered as he let the front door close behind him. He dropped his notepad on the coffee table as he passed through to the kitchen. With a grunt, he opened the refrigerator and leaned down, scanning the contents. He reached in for a carton of leftover Chinese, missing the shadow that passed over him.

The carton popped open and he sniffed tentatively, wrinkling his face after a long moment. "Ugh," he sighed, his face twisted in a grimace as he looked inside. It may have once been egg foo young, but he wasn't sure. It was hard to identify through the green fuzz that was growing on it.

He stood up, slamming the fridge door shut as he reached over to throw the carton out. As he did, a searing pain went through his side and he cried out. Stars danced in his vision as he doubled over, his hand flying to his left side. His groan segued to a hysterical pitch as his fingers grazed the handle of a knife embedded in him. He fell to his knees as the overhead light came to life and a pair of legs came into view. He looked up, his eyes moving over the thighs and waist. A young blonde woman crouched down, her hand coming to his shoulder. "It isn't nice to be stabbed from behind, is it?" she asked.

He exhaled sharply and slowly met her eyes. "Why?" he croaked. "Who are you?" Her mouth set as she cocked her head and, for a moment, he wondered if his natural tendency to ask questions had finally caught up to him. Her fingers danced down his arm and quickly moved to the handle, which she promptly twisted. He howled in agony, icy pain rolling through him. "Wh- what have I done?" he cried, a whimper clouding his question.

"Oh, Tim Kelly…what _haven't_ you done?"

He shook his head as the panic racing through him nearly knocked him over. "I don't…understand."

"Don't worry," she cooed, reaching for his hand. "You will. Now, lean back." He fell back, the wooden cabinets cushioning his fall. As he moved, the knife wound in his side howled and he grimaced, stifling a cry. Something told him the blonde woman wouldn't appreciate it. He watched as she sat in one of the kitchen chairs and he winced as she said, "There…more comfortable, right?"

Tim nodded dumbly as he broke out in a cold sweat. His heart raced as she leaned over the table, her hands studiously folded. Blood was quickly soaking through his shirt, the material heavy and sticky. "Have we met at the station? WHOC?"

She shook her head, her blue eyes dancing wildly. "Save yourself the trouble of wondering, Tim Kelly. You've never had the privilege of meeting me." He nodded encouragingly and forced himself to lean in, flashing a shaky smile. She took the bait. "I'm Ruth. Ruth Richards. And, you have _not_ been saying very nice things about my husband lately."

"Richards?" he gasped as nausea rose in his throat. He swallowed past it as his mind raced, struggling to understand. "You mean, Gregory Richards?"

"Of course, Gregory Richards." Her voice was clipped and her brow furrowed as she frowned. "Have you been slaughtering any other person named Richards in your columns lately?"

"I don't understand." His shaking hand came up to wipe the dripping sweat from his forehead. "Gregory Richards is married to Olivia Richards."

Ruth's hand came down on the table as she shrieked intelligibly. "Don't say her name!" she cried, repeatedly banging her fist on the surface. "That bitch isn't his wife! _I_ am! _I_ am Mrs. Gregory Richards!"

"Ok! Ok!" he shouted. Her breathing was ragged as she ran a hand through her short hair. "I'm…just c- confused," he said, causing her to look up slowly.

"He loves _me_," she declared, her eyes wide as she leaned in. "Me!"

"Right, right, of course he does. I'm sorry. It's just…been a b- busy day."

"Were you writing more lies about Gregory?"

"No," he said quickly, gesturing back to the living room. "No, I was covering his daughter's kidnapping."

"Kidnapping? What kidnapping?" He watched her face turn, her thin lips parted in surprise. "Caitlin was with me, where she belongs." A shiver crept up his spine and his mouth ran dry. "Well?" he heard her say, her voice high-pitched. "Why do you think she was kidnapped?" He sat quiet, truly at a loss for words as he watched her head fly up. "_She _reported me, didn't she! That bitch!"

"M-maybe the police got it wrong," he said urgently as she jumped up, shaking the table. He watched, his head swimming in nausea, as she began to pace the kitchen.

"She can't stand that Gregory loves me! That he's going to leave her and take the children with him! She's a bitter and vindictive woman! She uses those poor children to keep herself in his life!"

Slumped over, he nodded and said, "So, he's leaving Ol- her for you?"

She looked up, incredulous. "Of course. Haven't you been listening to a single word I've said? Gregory is the only man I've ever loved." Her face softened and she smiled, looking down bashfully as she asked, "Do you want to know how we met?"

An icy numbing sensation crept over him as he pressed his hand over the wound, applying pressure. "Yeah, sure. Of course."

With a happy sigh, she smoothed her hair down. "It was nearly three years ago," she began. "One of those happy coincidences that ends up changing your life, like what you see in the movies. It was a pouring rain and I was running up the sidewalk. I had to get to _Darcy's_ and pick up an order for Mrs. Russell. Only she wasn't Mrs. Russell then, she was still Ms. Finch."

His ears perked up at the mention of Cashlin and he glanced nervously to the phone, sitting on the corner of the counter. "Naturally, I forgot my umbrella in the car and I was soaked. I was nearly at the bakery when my purse slipped out of my hands and fell. It spilled open and everything flew out onto the sidewalk," he heard her continue and he looked over, forcing himself to nod. "That's when Gregory came to my rescue."

She sighed, dreamy as she remembered. "He stood over me with his umbrella, shielding me from the rain as I picked everything up. Then, he held out his hand as I stood up. I couldn't breathe," she admitted, reaching out and clasping the air, as if Gregory's hand was there now. "Until then, I'd only seen him from afar at the office. But, up close…oh, he just has the most beautiful eyes. Rich and brown. Did you know they light up when he smiles?"

He shook his head, but she was beyond noticing. She leaned against the counter, a smile dancing on her lips. "Then, he asked if I was going to _Darcy's_. When I said that I was, he walked me to the door, holding the umbrella over me the entire time. He even opened the door to the bakery for me." She closed her eyes, remembering the warm aroma of cinnamon as they stood in the doorway, music from inside the bakery surrounding them as she whispered her thanks. "_My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day_," she sang, her hands clasped to her chest. "_My cherie amour, distant as the Milky Way. My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore._"

"Sounds like love at first sight," he finally said, apprehension dripping in his belly.

"Oh, it was. We've made so many plans for the rest of our lives. It's going to be wonderful. Just us and the children."

He nodded enthusiastically and licked his dry lips. A thought came to him, dancing enticingly. A hiss escaped from his lips, the wound aching as he said, "You can live your life now, now that Olivia's had the baby. You can have-"

"What?" Ruth's head flew up and she moved closer to him. "She had our baby?"

"Yes, yes. Olivia went into labor this afternoon after the kidnap- I mean, when you took your daughter. She's at South Bay right now."

"Our baby is here?"

"I knew you would want to know," he said, watching as her hand twitched against her thigh. She moved closer to him, breathing heavily. "See, you and Gregory can live happily after-" He cried out as she grasped the knife and yanked it out of him. Shaking, he pressed his hand to the wound, a warm river of blood rushing forth. "Shit!" he screamed, his stomach turning as he watched her use the hem of her shirt to clean the blade. "What the hell is wrong with you, lady?"

"Thank you, Tim Kelly," she murmured, blandly patting him on the shoulder as she passed by him. "Thank you."

He clutched his side as the door to the apartment closed resoundingly. Crawling slowly across the linoleum floor, he reached up for the phone and pressed zero. The line rang aimlessly as a chill went through him and he slumped against the cabinet, the handset slipping from his bloody hand.

* * *

Bette hurried down the hallway, the suitcase and shopping bag knocking into her legs. The waiting room in the Maternity ward was at the end of the hall and she blazed forward. "Ok, Greggy, I'm here!" she gushed, bursting into the small room. Gregory looked up slowly, his face shrouded in exhaustion and she frowned. Next to him, Caitlin was stretched out across two chairs, her hands tucked beneath her sleeping face. "How's Livy?" she asked, her voice dropping to a soft whisper.

"Asleep," he murmured, meeting her eyes briefly before he turned back to his daughter. He rubbed her back, his hand moving in a slow methodical circle. "The nurse said she came to briefly in Recovery, but she fell back asleep."

"Well, that's good, isn't it? Rest helps." He didn't look up as she sat by Caitlin's feet, the bag on her lap and the suitcase on the floor. "I brought Livy's suitcase from the house. I think I packed everything she would need. I also brought a change of clothes for Caitlin."

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the child. He knew she should go home for a bath and a good night's sleep in her own bed, but he wasn't letting her out of his sight. No matter what. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice devoid of any semblance of emotion.

"I called her parents. Barbara is arranging to get on the first available flight. I don't think Thomas will be able to fly over until next week, at the earliest." She watched him carefully, her head cocked. He said nothing, just gazed down at the sleeping child. In short, he was a wreck. "Have you seen Olivia?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

With a sigh, he looked up and nodded slowly. "When they brought her up," he explained, remembering how still and pale she looked. A stark contrast to the flushed panic that consumed her before the Caesarean section. He stood in the door, leaning against the jamb as he watched her sleep. The lights above the bed were turned low, bathing her in a soft white glow that gave way to shadows.

"And, the little guy? Sean?" she asked with a grin. She watched him turn away from her and Caitlin. Slowly, he shook his head as an unruly tremor shook his hands. "Gregory, what's wrong?"

Everything. _Everything_ was wrong. His son may not live. The newborn couldn't even breathe without the help of a respirator. His kidnapped daughter was returned and clung to him nearly as much as he clung to her. And, his wife… He couldn't even begin to count all the ways he failed Olivia. The three of them were so far removed from him, he didn't even know where to start to find his way back.

"Gregory?" Bette asked, concerned as she leaned in. "Have you seen the baby?"

"No," he finally said, turning back to Caitlin. "I'm waiting for Olivia."

It was a lie he nearly believed.

* * *

A warm breeze blew across the parking log and Harris sighed, tying her thin dreadlocks into a ponytail. She shifted, the hood of her police car only moderately more comfortable than the hard waiting room chairs. With a long sigh, she looked back up at the hospital, her gaze drifting up to the fourth floor. The Maternity floor.

"_Fancy meeting you here." _

She looked over as Morales sat next to her on the car. He held out a paper cup and she took off the lid, breathing in the rich aroma of coffee. "I thought you went home," she sighed, tentatively sipping the hot drink.

"I was nearly there," he admitted, leaning back against the windshield. "But, I turned around when I realized that you probably guilted yourself into staying."

She shrugged. "I'll go home when Ruth Runyon is brought in."

"And if she's not? What are you going to do? Follow Olivia Richards around for the rest of her life?"

"Maybe."

Morales sighed and sat up. He rested his feet on the front bumper, his knees on his elbows. "No one on the force thinks you did anything wrong."

She gently blew on the coffee and nodded slowly. "I know. But, this is where I need to be."

"Oh, man. What does Donald say about that?"

"He'll- he'll understand."

"Oh, really?"

From inside the car, the police radio crackled and she glanced over, hearing her name drift through the air. "That's probably the station radioing a call from him," she heard Morales say as she slid off the hood. She flashed him a half-smile and handed him her cup before she leaned in the window. "This is Harris. Over," she said into the radio.

* * *

I open the door and step onto the Maternity floor from the stairwell. It's quiet and deserted, I realize as I glance around. My feet are barely a whisper as I walk down the hall, peering into the windows of the rooms.

My baby is here and I've come for him.

Like a good mother.

* * *

Harris stared through the windshield in disbelief, the dispatcher's words echoing in the silence. "Repeat that, Dispatch. Repeat. Over."

The radio crackled and she saw Morales turn, his face still as he watched her through the glass. "Call received through the operator. Tim Kelly reporting that Ruth Runyon stabbed him in his apartment. Suspect may be on her way to South Bay. Be on the lookout. Copy? Over."

The radio slipped from Harris' hand and she turned, her heart racing as she unholstered her weapon. Her feet moved instinctively as she began to run, hearing Morales behind her. Chest heaving and arms pumping, they raced through the parking lot and into the hospital.

* * *

Bette looked up as Gregory stood with a deep exhale. "Are you alright?" she asked, smoothing the sweater she lay over Caitlin.

"I'm going to go check on Olivia," he murmured, rubbing his eyes. He bent down, moving to pick up his daughter when she reached out, touching his arm.

"Leave her," she suggested, meeting his eyes. "She's sleeping soundly. I'll stay with her." He hesitated noticeably, still crouching over the child. "I won't take my eyes off her. I swear."

After a long moment, he nodded and placed a kiss on the sleeping girl's head. "I won't be long," he said as he straightened up. He walked out of the waiting room, meeting the quiet hum of the floor. It was somewhat busy, even at this hour of the night. A nurse passed by, smiling politely as he began the walk down the hall. Olivia was in the fifth room on the right and he looked down to where he knew the door was.

A blonde woman was at the other end of the hall, her back to him. His brow furrowed as he watched her go to a door and stop briefly before she moved on. His fists tightened, his throat running dry as he watched her stop at Olivia's door and open it. With his heart pounding, he began to run as she went inside. "Call the police!" he barked at a passing nurse as he ran down the hall.


	42. Liv and Ruthie

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 42: "Liv & Ruthie"

Gregory turned the corner and stepped into the private hospital room, breathing hard. His panicked eyes swept over the space, from the window to the bed. The overhead light shone down on his wife, accentuating her pale complexion. She was still, her eyes closed as her chest rose and fell steadily. Slowly, he tore his eyes away from her and fixed them on the woman who stood next to the bed.

Ruth's back was to him, her body gently swaying from side to side. He inched closer, running a nervous hand through his hair. A sickly sweet smell clung to the air and his blood ran cold when he saw the knife in her hand. The blade caught the harsh light, glinting white in his eyes. She looked over her shoulder, turning slightly as she beamed. "Look," she whispered, glancing down at the bundle in her arms.

He inhaled sharply, not able to bear the sight of his newborn son in her arms. He watched in frozen horror as she brushed aside the receiving blanket, revealing the fuzzy face of a stuffed bear. Relief flooded through him as he stood still, watching her caress the bear's face. "Our baby is beautiful," she sighed.

The point of the knife danced close to the bear's face and he blanched, imagining that it was Sean's. In the hallway, he heard the sound of feet pounding the floor and he glanced at the door. Harris and Morales hovered in the doorway, their guns drawn as they looked in anxiously. Quickly, he shook his head and moved to stand between them and Ruth. "Yes," he said, the woman's smile disappearing as she turned back to the bear. "A beautiful baby."

She turned away, hugging the bear to her chest. He looked over his shoulder, meeting the dark eyes of Harris. They gazed at one and other for a long moment before he waved them away. As they took a step back from the doorway, he looked back to Ruth. "What are you doing here?" he asked, taking a careful step towards her.

Ruth froze and he watched warily as she slowly turned around. "Getting our child, of course." She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes darkening. "Where else would I be?"

He took a deep breath and let his mind wander, recalling the way Olivia's eyes lit up when he proposed. With the memory of his wife's eyes and the sound of her breathless _"Yes!" _with him, he was able to smile at Ruth. "Nowhere but here, thankfully."

She grinned, cradling the bear in her arms as she exhaled. "Oh…you have no- I mean, I was so worried!"

He moved closer and reached out, touching her shoulder as he turned her away from Olivia and the bed. "But, why?"

Trembling, she looked up, shame clouding her sigh. "I- I thought that…" Behind them, Olivia shifted in her sleep, the sheets rustling. Instinctively, he turned and he heard the other woman sigh. "_That_. I thought that."

He forced himself to turn back to Ruth, momentarily comforted by the knowledge that Olivia was still blissfully asleep. "She doesn't matter," he lied, wrapping his arm around Ruth's shoulders. She shook her head, choking back a sob. With a sigh, his face turned as he whispered, "Ruthie?"

Slowly, her head came up, tears shining in her eyes. "Don't-" she whispered, clutching the bear to her.

"Ruthie, we can be together now." He forced a smile and rubbed her shoulder as she sighed again. "Just you and me."

"Do you mean that?" she asked hopefully. "I- _we_ have waited years for this."

He nodded, urging her to follow him as he moved away from the bed. Gently he reached up, covering her hand with his. She trembled, the blade of the knife shaking. His fingers slipped between her palm and the knife, carefully prying it away. "I know," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm sorry I had to make you wait."

"It wasn't you!" she shrieked, spinning away from him with her back to the doorway. He lost his fragile grip on the knife and it clattered to the floor as her face flushed. "It was her! She kept us apart!"

"Ru-"

"Stop defending her!" she screamed, stomping her foot on the floor. Behind her, he saw Harris peer around the doorframe, her eyes darting between all of them. "You have to stop indulging her! It's gone on too long!"

"She's leaving," he said quickly, hearing Olivia stir. Ruth's body lunged forward and he reached out, embracing her tight against him. "Please, forget about her," he said, hugging her. She collapsed against him, turning her face into his chest.

"I can't," she muttered. "Every time I turn around, she's there!"

He hushed her, running his hand over her hair as he moved her away from the bed. Olivia moaned softly as her eyes fluttered open and he turned to her. His arms tightened around Ruth as his wife shifted on the bed and he could see her struggling to focus. He watched her blue eyes squint and narrow as she started to push herself up. Holding Ruth's head against his chest so that she wasn't facing the bed, he frantically tried to meet his wife's eyes as he shook his head. "No," he said, both to Olivia and to answer Ruth's question.

On the bed, Olivia sighed, exhausted as she gave up trying to sit up. She lay back against the pillows, her limbs heavy and weighing her down. Someone was crying and she tried to lift her head to see who it was. Was it Caitlin? But, when she lifted her head, she was instantly nauseous. She fell back, moaning as her vision danced in and out of focus. Gregory…he was there. Her fingers danced as she tried to hold out her hand and get his attention. "Darl-," she gasped, her hand outstretched as she coughed back nausea.

Gregory felt Ruth tense in his arms and a moment later, her head flew up. She turned to Olivia, a rage unfolding on her face. "It's ok," he said, holding her back as she lunged for Olivia. Her whole body shook as he pulled her away from the bed. "It's ok, Sweetheart."

Lying in the bed, Olivia squinted, struggling to see her husband. He was at the foot of the bed, with a blonde woman. Was it her mother? "Mummy?" she murmured, her stomach churning. "I feel…sick."

Ruth pushed him away and bent down quickly, her hand locking around the knife. "Shut up!" she shrieked, lunging at the bed. "SHUT UP!" Her hand flew back, the knife glinting for one terrifying moment. Gregory moved in front of the bed, shielding Olivia with his body as the knife came down.

Harris peered around the doorframe, her hand steady as she took aim. She squeezed the trigger and the sound of the gunshot ricocheted in the enclosed space. Ruth shrieked and fell to the ground, clutching her leg. She stepped into the room, lowering her gun as Morales pushed past her. Hearing nothing but the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears, she looked around the room.

Morales already had Ruth handcuffed and laying on her stomach as he applied pressure to her thigh wound. The blonde woman was stunned, her cheek pressed to the floor as he read her her rights. He finished and looked up, nodding to her.

She nodded back to him as she turned to the bed. Gregory was leaning over his wife, cupping her face. She saw his mouth moving and she numbly walked closer, wanting to see Olivia for herself. The woman was pale, her throat working hard as her eyes danced around the room. "Is she alright?" Harris asked, her voice loud as she struggled to hear herself.

Gregory looked up, nodding. "I think so. Ruth never touched her," he replied before he turned back to his wife. "Sweetheart?" He reached out, caressing her cheek. "Liv? You're safe. It's over."

Harris turned away, still clutching her gun. She looked down at it for a long moment and reached out, setting it gently on the night table next to the bed. It would stay there until the back-up team showed up. Slowly, she sank into the visitor's chair and pressed her hands to her cheeks as she sighed deeply.

It was over.

* * *

Gregory followed the orderly pushing Olivia's hospital bed to her new room down the hall. She was fading in and out of sleep and he reached out, holding her hand. Her eyes turned up to his, a question dancing on her lips. "Just close your eyes, Liv. We're almost there," he said softly as they turned the corner, leaving behind the swarm of police in her old room.

"Here we are," the orderly said as he gently guided the bed into the dimly lit room. "The nurse should be by shortly to check her vitals."

He nodded as the man left and turned to the bed. His wife's eyes were half-closed and he sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her hand. Relief coursed through his veins. His wife was safe and Ruth Runyon was arrested. It was over. "Gregory…," she whispered, looking up at him.

He brought her hand up and kissed it gently. "Caity's down the hall with Bette. She's fine," he said softly and she nodded. His mouth set in a grim line as he continued, "And, Sweetheart…we have a son."

A tired half-smile briefly lit up her face as she sighed, "Sean." He kissed her hand once more and gently lowered it back to the bed. Her eyes closed and several seconds later, she was breathing deep and even.

"They're safe, Liv," he murmured, smoothing the sheets over her legs. "We all are."

* * *

I'm dead.

I'm alive, but I'm dead.

I'm sitting on a bed in one of the exam rooms in the Emergency Room. That bitch cop shot me. My right hand is cuffed to the bed and I move my arm, the cuff rattling against the metal railing. The nurse cleaning my wound jumps back and the two cops in the corner look over. "Sorry," I mutter, not that I'm sorry at all.

The bitch cop looks at me, her dark eyes steely as they move over me. I turn to her, glaring until she turns back to the cop standing next to her. They're whispering and every so often, they take turns looking over at me. But, where will I go?

Gregory's forsaken me and turned his back on me. I tense, remembering the way he clung to _her_ side as the police swarmed the room. And, he didn't even look at me as the cops led me away. No, he stayed with _her_.

I'll show him.

I'll show him good.

I look down at the nurse, who is still working on my leg. The left pant is cut off all the way up to my waist and my knee has a smudge of Betadine on it. The nurse is wrapping gauze tightly around my thigh and she looks up at the bitch cop. "Officers? She'll be ready for transport shortly."

The bitch cop responds, but I don't look up. Instead, I watch the nurse stand and push her chair away. She also pushes away the tray table with her medical instruments. But, the table is on wheels and I watch, fascinated, as it rolls slowly closer to me. The nurse turns away, the latex gloves snapping as she pulls them off and throws them away. Her back is to me as she stands at the small sink, scrubbing her hands with soap and water.

I glance out the corner of my eye. Good, they're deep in conversation. Probably about the best way to transport their poor, injured criminal. Won't they be surprised?

I reach out for the nurse's tray table, intrigued by the so-far unused scalpel. I clench it in my hand, surprised by how light it is. At the sink, the water goes off and the nurse turns, drying her hands as I say to her, "Tell Gregory I'll love him always."

Then, I inhale sharply and plunge the scalpel into my throat.

* * *

Harris's eyes flew up as the nurse shrieked and a fountain of red gushed across the exam room. "No!" she yelled as she and Morales ran to the bed. Ruth collapsed against the pillows, drenched in her own blood as a thick river gushed from her neck.

Morales ripped back the curtain, shouting for a doctor as his partner leaned over the bed. Ruth's lips were parted, falling open to a lopsided O as their eyes met. A moment later, her eyes closed and her hand fell open. A doctor rushed in, swore beneath his breath, and held his index and middle fingers to Ruth's wrist. "She expired," he announced after several moments as his eyes turned up to the simple clock on the wall. "Time of death: 21:13."

_Unlucky number thirteen_, Harris though to herself as she stepped back from the bed, letting two nurses in. Everything about Ruth Runyon was unlucky and unfortunate. She looked into the corner of the exam room, where the nurse who had been treating Ruth's leg stood sobbing. She went over to her, grabbing a piece of paper towel as she passed the dispenser. "Here," she said, touching her shoulder. "You ok?"

She shook her head, still crying as she blew her nose. "No!" she wailed, looking at Harris with wide eyes. "This is my first day! I didn't expect…"

With a nod of understanding, she handed the nurse another tissue and was about to suggest they step out, when the nurse said, "She said 'Tell Gregory I'll love him always'." Harris's stomach clenched as the young girl blew her nose again and asked, "Was he her husband?"

"No," she said softly after several moments. "But she wanted him to be."


	43. Things Not Seen

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 43: "Things Not Seen"

Gregory quietly opened the door to Olivia's hospital room, hoping she was still asleep. She looked up as he entered, anxiously twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Morning, Sweetheart," he said, bending down to kiss her. "I was hoping you'd be asleep."

She shook her head and moved her legs as he sat next to her on the bed. "No, I can't sleep," she murmured. Outside her window, the sky was lightening to a pale shade of grey before it could give way to blue and sunshine. "Did you stop at the nursery to see Sean?"

He flinched at the hope in her voice before he slowly shook his head. She sighed deeply and looked away, frowning. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her how terrified he was to see that child, to grow attached to him, to _love_ him if there was a chance he might not survive. He couldn't tell her he was afraid, about the fear that kept him awake all night. He couldn't admit he blamed himself. "Liv-"

"Why not?" she hissed, her arms folded tight against her chest. "Why wouldn't you see him, Gregory?" She turned back to him, meeting his eyes. "Only the nurses have seen him, but they don't love him. We do."

"Please," he begged, reaching out to cup her shoulders, "don't upset yourself."

"But, I _am_ upset! I am! And, don't tell me not to be!" Her face flushed and she sat up, flinging her hands down. "My child is thirteen hours old and I haven't seen him! They won't let me out of this damn bed until Dr. Robinson gets here!" Her head fell and he saw her shoulders shake. Gently, he placed his hand on her knee, hoping she wouldn't notice the way it trembled. She sighed deeply and looked up, still frowning. "The nurse said I wouldn't be able to breastfeed Sean," she whispered, a sob rising in her throat.

"Liv, don't-"

"I am his mother," she murmured, her eyes full with unshed tears. "The one thing I should be able to do for him, they won't let me." She brushed her cheeks dry and leaned back, wincing as the incision in her stomach howled. "I just want to see him," she said, turning back to him. "Please, Gregory, go check on him. Make sure he's alright."

"I spoke with the nurses," he replied, hoping she would be comforted. But, instead, it had the adverse effect. Her eyes narrowed and darkened as he continued, "They said he had a calm night."

"_They_ said? But, you didn't go see Sean yourself! So, you don't know! You don't know what he looks like, if his eyes are open, or even if they spelled his name right!"

"Olivia-"

"I just don't understand why you haven't seen him!"

"_Good morning."_

They looked up as Dr. Robinson entered the room, a hesitant smile on his face. "I'm doing rounds, but I can come back in a few minutes if-"

"No," Olivia insisted as she sniffled. "I'm glad you're here. I want you to tell the nurses to bring me a wheelchair. I _must_ go to the nursery to see my son."

Gregory stood, making eye contact with the doctor. He nodded and smiled down at his patient as he began, "Mrs. Richards, it hasn't even been twenty-four hours since your surgery. Your incision-"

"Is fine," she interrupted, determined. "I can sit up and I'm not nauseous."

"Yes, I can see that," he said carefully as he reached for her chart. He was quiet as he scanned the paperwork. "I heard about the incident in your hospital room last night," he began after a long moment as he closed the chart. Gregory cleared his throat as Olivia looked away. "Are you both alright?"

"Fine," they answered simultaneously, confirming Dr. Robinson's suspicion that neither of them were the very thing they claimed to be. He turned, looking at Gregory for a long moment. The man looked exhausted with smudges of sleeplessness beneath his eyes. When the doctor turned to his patient, he saw a woman whose anxiety was still as palpable as it was yesterday afternoon before she delivered her son.

"Mrs. Richards, I'm not ready to see you out of bed yet."

Olivia's jaw dropped and she looked up at him. "Dr. Robinson, please," she begged, tears stinging her eyes. "I _need_ to go to the nursery."

"Mrs. Richar-"

"I just want to see my baby!" she shrieked before she burst into tears. "I need to see him! I need to touch him! I need to see that I didn't hurt him!"

Gregory and the doctor exchanged a long look before he reached for his wife. "Sweetheart, you didn't hurt the baby," he said, reaching for her hands. She grunted and squirmed away, folding her arms tight against her chest as she continued to cry. He looked down, the sound of her sobbing ringing in his ears.

"Mrs. Richards, you did nothing to cause your son's premature birth. Please believe me." She scoffed, using the edge of the bed sheet to dry her tears. "You were pregnant during extraordinary circumstances."

"I am Sean's mother," she insisted, her face turning. She shivered beneath the concerned gazes of her husband and her doctor. "All I had to do was stay healthy. I couldn't even do _that_."

Gregory winced at the desperation and loathing in her voice. His heart sank as he realized, and not for the first time, that his pride and his actions damned his wife. He cheated on her and turned his back on her. Forsaking her. Now, he can't he look at their new son, let alone her, without thinking that both of them would've been better off without him. He cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me." He turned away quickly and missed seeing the heartbreak on Olivia's face.

In the hall, he exhaled deeply and closed the door. He turned right, as if to go to the nursery, but he balked at taking a step. He just couldn't do it. After a moment, he turned away and walked aimlessly down the hall in the opposite direction. The sound of crying babies drifted after him and he flinched, quickening his step. One of those babies could be Sean.

"_Greg!"_

He looked up and saw Morris coming down the hall. An oversized giraffe was tucked under one arm and a package wrapped in a baseball print paper was under the other. "Congratulations!" Morris said, flashing a bright grin. He held out the wrapped package and waited for Gregory to take it as he explained, "Val ordered this special from 161st Street. Also, is Olivia is feeling up for visitors? If so, she wants to come see-"

In an instant, the anger, frustration and fear he had been holding in came to the surface and bubbled over. "I know what you did," he growled, his voice low.

He watched as Morris lowered the package and cocked his head. "Greg, I don't-"

"Don't bother lying. I know that you helped Olivia lie and go behind my back. Or, was it an accident that she knew where Jeannie Harris would be yesterday morning?"

"You don't understand," he said after a moment of stunned silence. "She was scared and worried that something would happen-"

"Something _did_ happen! My daughter was kidnapped, my son was born premature and my wife nearly died!" He ran his hand angrily through his hair. "We're done. I can't trust you any more."

Morris said nothing, only watched his friend quietly unravel. But Gregory Richards was nothing if not serious when he said something. He glanced around as the hospital quietly continued to pulse on around them. "We've been friends since we were nineteen," he said quietly. "This is how it ends?"

Gregory looked up slowly, his heart heavy. "I'll put your final check in the mail," he said as he walked away, ignoring the way his friend's eyes burned into his back.

* * *

Olivia watched her husband leave the hospital room and her shoulders collapsed as he closed the door. "He blames me," she murmured as the doctor looked down at her. She sighed heavily, tears still falling down her face. Dr. Robinson reached into his pocket and held out his handkerchief to her. She took it gratefully and sniffed, wiping her face. "For drinking when I was pregnant. For not keeping my blood pressure down. For not keeping either of our children safe."

"Mrs. Richards-"

"Is it true that having sex causes placenta abruption?"

"Where did you hear that?" he asked quietly.

"Nurse Stacy…or whatever her name is." The doctor winced and reminded himself to have yet another talk with the chatty young nurse. She looked up and asked, "Is it true?"

"It is one of _several_ causes," Dr. Robinson said diplomatically after several long moments of silence.

With a sad smile, she turned away and gazed blindly out the window. As far as she was concerned, it was the _only_ cause. It was yet _another_ nail in her coffin of guilt. "My husband and I made love yesterday morning," she murmured, not looking at the doctor. "No matter what I did, it was the wrong thing."

With a deep sigh, the doctor said, "Mrs. Richards, you are being far too hard on yourself." She scoffed, but still refused to look at him. "The important thing to remember is that your little boy is alive."

"But, he's so sick," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Yes. But, he won't be forever." Her face crumpled and he reached out, covering her hand with his own. "Your son _will_ get better." She looked over gratefully and managed a weepy half-smile. "Now," he said definitively as he let go of her hand and reached for her chart, "I'm going to order you a mild dose of Diazepam. It will ease some of your anxiety."

"But, Dr. Robinson-" she protested, sitting up a bit in the bed.

"_And_, if you rest, Mrs. Richards, I'll let the nurses know that you may get out of bed this evening to see your baby."

"Do you mean that?" she gasped, her eyes lighting up.

He nodded. "Yes. But only if you try your very hardest to rest and not upset yourself, no matter what your husband thinks." She nodded and leaned back in the bed as he smiled down at her. "The nurse noted that your incision is intact and shows no sign of infection, but I'd like to do a quick examination myself.

"Yes. Alright."

He started to turn away to pull the curtain closed when he abruptly paused and looked back at her. "You have a beautiful son, Mrs. Richards." She looked up slowly, her lips parted as he continued, "And, no matter what you think, Sean is _lucky_ to have you as his mother."

* * *

Harris knocked on the doorjamb and waited until Chief Briscoe looked up. "You wanted to see me, Chief?"

The older man smirked and gestured her in. "Have a seat, Harris," he said. He watched her sit down, square her shoulders and look up. "Don't look so glum. This isn't a trip to the principal's office, you know."

"Yes, Sir. I have a feeling I know what this-"

He held up his hand. "No. You don't." She nodded, her mouth in a grim line as he continued, "You know, I'm not happy with your methods. You play things fast and loose. You get too emotionally involved. You don't listen. But…you're smart and you got the job done."

She inhaled sharply. It was the first compliment she ever received from Briscoe. "Thank you, Sir."

He sighed and leaned back, the leather chair creaking. "This was a doozy of a case, but you made it stick. The knife Ruth Runyon had on her when she went to Olivia Richards's hospital room had a drop-point blade. Her apartment was a shrine to Gregory Richards. She must have been stalking him for months, maybe even years, because she had pictures of him everywhere. We found a bloody costume at the back of her closet and I'll bet my vacation time that the blood on it matches Cashlin Russell's. We also found a half-empty box of pink stationery paper."

She shivered, remembering the sad woman's last words. "She loved Gregory Richards."

"Well, unfortunately for her, he didn't know she existed." He looked up, flashing a Cheshire grin at her. "Speaking of Gregory Richards, he called the station first thing this morning."

"Oh?" she asked, content to only imagine the earful he must've given the Chief.

"Yes. Seems he's rather grateful to you."

"_What_?"

He nodded coolly. "Apparently, you made quite the impression on him. Says you hung around all afternoon at the hospital, waiting to see how his wife was." She nodded numbly, her jaw hanging open as he continued, "Then, your heroics last night were not unnoticed. He said you saved his wife's life." He sat up, his hands folded on his desk. "Now, I'd never tell an officer of mine to kiss anyone's ass-"

"Except your own," she deadpanned.

He grinned. "But Gregory Richards is an important man to have in your corner. Additionally, you've caught the eye of Mayor Hixby and the City Council. It wouldn't surprise me," he said, his voice taking on a new measure of solemnity, "if they've put you on the fast track to becoming the next Chief of Police."

She looked up sharply, his announcement ringing in her ears. A moment later, she grinned and said, "Chief Harris, hmm?"

"Don't go getting too far ahead of yourself there, Harris. I'm still a few years away from retirement." He paused and looked down, needlessly straightening the papers on his desk as he said softly, "But, I'd be proud to have you as my replacement."

Harris smiled, watching as he avoided her eyes. "Thank you, Sir."

* * *

In the quiet evening hours, after the sun had set and twilight descended over the sleepy beach town, Gregory walked down the hall with his wife. Olivia sat quietly in the wheelchair, her robe wrapped tightly around her. The nurse pushing the chair chatted amiably, but so far, the quiet couple had yet to respond. With a sigh, she looked down the hall, the wail of the newborns growing louder with each step.

He looked down, seeing Olivia's hands. They were twisting nervously in her lap as she gazed quietly at the floor. With a sigh, he followed the nurse into the nursery, walking past the general room to the NICU at the back. "You'll just need to put on these special gowns and gloves," he heard the nurse say and he took the items from her. He put them on slowly, watching as the nurse helped Olivia into them.

Olivia looked up nervously as the nurse opened the door and pushed her through. In the corner was an incubator, bathed in a glowing white light. "Does the light hurt Sean's eyes?" she asked, her voice low as they neared the baby.

"No," the nurse assured her, rolling the wheelchair alongside the incubator. "It's not strong, but it does keep your baby warm and cozy."

She gasped, tears filling her eyes as she looked down at her son. Tubes ran into his small body and she nodded blandly as she heard the nurse explain the respirator was helping him breathe. "How long will he need it?" she asked, unable to take her eyes off Sean.

Gregory stood behind Olivia, ice blood running through his veins as he heard the nurse respond, "Until his lung function improves." He parted his dry lips, his trembling hand gripping his wife's shoulder. He remembered Caitlin as a newborn. She was eight pounds and two ounces of rosy health. But, Sean…he was so small with leads stuck to his chest to monitor his heart and lungs.

"Oh, Gregory," she murmured, leaning closer to the incubator. "Look at him. He's so small, so fragile."

"Here," the nurse said, reaching for Olivia's gloved hand. She gently guided it through the small round opening of the incubator and whispered, "Go on. Touch him. The preemies that get the most love get better quicker." She looked up at Gregory and gestured to the touch hole on the other side, but he shook his head.

He looked down, watching as Olivia's index finger dwarfed their son's clenched fist. But, it was her face that riveted him. Her eyes sparkled and her smile lit up the room as she leaned forward. "Hello, Sean," he heard her say as she caressed the baby's arm. "I'm your mummy."

Olivia felt her husband's hand on her shoulder and she leaned her head against it. "Isn't he beautiful, Darling?"

He nodded, the only response he could muster. A tremor went through his body as he looked down at the defenseless baby. The baby who may not survive. His son. Finally, his son. Swallowing a sob, he spun away and left the NICU, the door banging shut behind him.

Her face hardened when she heard the door slam. But, she didn't look after him. How could she look at him when he could scarcely stand to look at her? He couldn't even be in the same room as her. It was just like after the miscarriage. He couldn't talk to her, but he could sit up half the damn night watching her when he thought she was asleep. With a sigh, she leaned in and said softly, "I love you, Sean. And, your father does too."

* * *

Gregory rushed into Olivia's hospital room and slammed the door shut. He paced frantically, every muscle on fire, every sense alert. He sobbed and a moment later, his face crumpled. Hot salty tears splashed down his face and he pulled his fist back, slamming it into the wall. Pain radiated up his arm like an electrical current, but he bore it. Slowly, he sank to his knees, sobbing into his hands.

He cried for his son, who, along with his sister, represented the best of him. And, thanks to his careless actions, the innocent child was thrust into an uncertain future and a host of medical ailments.

He cried for his daughter, who suffered God-knew-what during the hours she was kidnapped.

He cried for his wife, who would never know the desolate life she saved him from. Who gave him reasons for living. Who made his life beautiful. Who he repaid with betrayal and lies.

He cried for himself. For the life he took for granted instead of cherishing it. For his inability to look at his wife. For his inability to be in the same room as his precious son. For his inability to look at himself in the mirror.

And, he cried because things would _never_ be the way they used to be.

Ever again.


	44. Epilogue: Frailty

_A/N: A million thanks for reading and reviewing! I'll be taking a break for awhile, but look for my next story in the near future!_

* * *

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Epilogue: "Frailty"

_The fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her husband. _- William Shakespeare

* * *

_One Year Later _

Harris stood quietly, clutching her glass of club soda with one hand. Her other hand rested on her swollen stomach, wincing as the child in her kicked. With a grimace, she took a deep sip of her drink, looking for Donald. After a moment, she spotted him on the other side of the room, surrounded by admirers. She rolled her eyes for a brief moment, still not impressed with California society. But, this was Donald's crowd, not hers. And, it wasn't every day that her husband received a handsome grant from The Liberty Corporation. For him, she would play her part.

_"Good evening, Detective."_

She looked up directly into Olivia's blue eyes. "M-Mrs. Richards, how are you?"

Olivia shrugged and glanced around before she leaned in, whispering, "Bored out of my mind."

Harris nodded, grinning impishly. "Likewise," she admitted. "These parties have never been my scene. Although _this_ party has better food than most of the other ones I've been too." She watched the other woman chuckle into her wine glass before she took a deep sip. "Donald was very pleased to be awarded the Richards Grant."

With a smirk, she lowered her wine glass. "Gregory's always wanted his name on something. Watch out…next year, this could be the Richards Ballroom."

She frowned, watching as Olivia's face fell and she turned, following her gaze. Gregory Richards stood on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with a blonde woman. Turning back to Olivia, she couldn't help but realize how much the intervening year had changed her. Her spirit was shrouded in sadness, almost as if a part of her died during the fiasco with Ruth Runyon. "How are your children?" she asked. "I haven't seen you at the park with them lately."

She shook her head, cupping her wine glass. "No, we haven't gone," she explained quietly. She watched the wine, the golden liquid still in her glass. "It's difficult taking Sean out. He gets sick so easily…"

Her mouth set in a grim line, watching the turmoil on the other woman's face. "Is he alright?" she asked softly, her hand perched protectively on her own stomach.

Here, Olivia looked up as a small smile danced on her lips. "Yes, thankfully. He's still small for his age, but Dr. Robinson is happy with his progress." Her eyes fell to Harris' stomach and she gestured to it with her wine glass. "When are you due?"

"Oh, I'm ready now, but my doctor insists on waiting the remaining two months."

"No bed rest for you then?" Olivia deadpanned as she smoothed the silk of her dress. She saw the other woman flinch and she raised her glass to her lips. "Surely you know that was a joke."

"Mrs. Richards," Harris began, her voice grave, "I hope you know how sorry I am for everything that happened last year." Olivia's eyes flickered, her throat moving as she swallowed her wine. "I don't know that I truly appreciated the awful situation you were in until…" she trailed off, gesturing to her own stomach. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know I regret it all."

Her face hardened, her lips pursing. "Detective, do you know why I gave you the letter that morning at the park?" She continued, not giving her a chance to respond, "I knew that you were _relentless_. I knew that you would dig and dig until you found out who was sending those letters to my husband." She moved closer to the detective, her voice low. "I don't regret it. I got my daughter back. My son is getting stronger every day. And, that woman…" An involuntary shudder went through her body and she took a quick sip of wine. "Well."

Harris watched quietly as Olivia lapsed into silence, understanding there was nothing more to say about Ruth. She looked over, watching Gregory still talking with the blonde. _Another woman_, she thought to herself as she turned back. "Well, I hope we'll be seeing all _three_ of you at the park soon," she said softly, rubbing a small circle on her stomach. "Then, you can meet my little girl. Her name's going to be Alicia."

With a weak nod and an even smaller smile, Olivia reached out and squeezed the detective's hand. "Thank you…for everything," she whispered. "And, good luck."

Their eyes met for a moment and she noticed the dark smudges beneath Olivia's blue eyes as she returned the squeeze. "Please take care, Mrs. Richards."

* * *

Del stood behind an overflowing leafy plant, watching as Olivia downed her glass of Chardonnay. He stepped around the pot for a clear view of her from afar. The silk cocktail dress clung to her, following the new curves of her body. With an appreciative sigh, he handed his glass to a passing waiter and moved closer.

She was standing next to the waiter, exchanging her empty glass for a refill. He rested his hand on her hip, burning through the navy silk before he began the ascent of her torso. "You know," he drawled, his mouth scant inches from her ear, "you're in the wrong place."

She turned slowly, with a steadiness that a surgeon would envy. Her eyes flickered to his, the irises darkening to sapphire. Her mouth curled, though the smile barely touched her lips. His hand twitched, resting just next to the swell of her breast. "Am I?"

He grinned, displaying a pearly set of ultra-white teeth. With a nod, he stepped closer and locked eyes with her. "Of course, Darlin'. You'll never get a _real_ drink in here," he continued, grazing the hand that held her wine glass. "And you look like you need one. Maybe even a double."

She inched closer to him and muttered, "All the alcohol in the _world_ can't make up for what I lost." Laughter danced from across the room and she looked over. "Do you see that?" she asked, gesturing with her wine glass. They watched Gregory, still engrossed in conversation with the blonde. She shuddered, unable to forget about the other blonde woman whose madness scorched through their marriage. "Do you see the way he's looking at her? The way he's devouring her with his eyes?"

"Maybe you're mistaken?"

She threw back her head and laughed as she leaned against him. "Mistaken? No, I know that look." She faltered, taking a sip before she confessed, "Gregory used to look at _me_ that way."

"Let me buy you a good _stiff_ drink, Darlin'." The glass slipped from her fingers and he shoved it on the table as he wrapped his arm around her waist. "Vodka martini still your poison?"

"I'm touched you remember."

His low chuckle echoed in the quiet as they left the ballroom and went down the hall to the bar. "I remember everything about that one wild night we spent together."

Her eyebrow arched gently and she leaned against the polished wood as he ordered their drinks. She watched him curiously, her finger nails clicking on the surface. "_Our_ wild night?"

"Well," he hedged, winking, "maybe I let my imagination get ahead of me."

"More like your libido," she mumbled.

The soft piano drowned out the sounds of the distant sounds of the reception. The dim lighting cloaked them in shadows, yet glowed on the gem of her engagement ring. He reached out, tracing the curve of her finger up to the base of her ring. She watched quietly, his finger an odd counterpoint to Gregory's diamond. "My libido has never been a problem when you're concerned," he replied softly as the bartender placed their drinks before them.

Her eyes narrowed as she took a deep gulp from the glass. "But your sincerity leaves something to be desired," she said, watching him over the rim.

He groaned, a muffled noised that echoed in the partially filled well of the tumbler. "Sincerity gets you nowhere."

"Nowhere…it's everywhere," she whispered.

Del watched her drink, the hungry way that she inhaled the liquor. He glanced up, catching the bartender's eye for another round. Then, he leaned into her, their shoulders brushing together. "Greg's an idiot," he said and he felt her stiffen. "If you were _my_ wife, I'd never let you out of my sight. You'd be the _only_ woman I'd devour."

She looked up slowly, her blue eyes clouded with a perpetual sadness. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she murmured, turning back to her glass. Her voice was soft, strained with pain. The image of the lioness that she invoked in him was gone, replaced with the tortured fluttering of a wounded bird. "He doesn't talk to me anymore," she continued, melancholy clinging to each word, "and he doesn't look at me. And, I stopped trying to get him to." She sighed, pushing her empty glass away. "We've settled into an uncomfortable silence."

"Two small kids can't help."

But, she glanced over, a beam lighting up her face. "Those two children are the only company I have," she whispered. She was blessed with two wonderful children, even if she envied their happiness and the affection Gregory bestowed on them. Sean had defied all the odds and grew, flashing toothless grins that lit up the brown eyes he inherited from his father. Caitlin adored her younger brother and thankfully showed no traces of being emotionally traumatized by the hours she spent with Ruth.

He shook his head, clasping his hand over hers. "Then, he's a fool for not seeing what's right in front of him," he whispered slowly.

"What do you see in front of you?" Her lip glistened, stained with the remnants of her drink. Her gaze fell as the bartender set a freshly shaken martini by her hand. Her fingertips traced the rim, the cool glass smooth against her flesh.

"Someone I'd like to get to know better."

She sipped the martini, the desperation from earlier quelled as he watched her. His eyes moved over her appreciatively and she sighed. "Better?"

"Intimately," he clarified, pushing his own glass away as he lay a crisp bill on the table. "There's a fully stocked bar in my suite."

"Is there?" she murmured. The alcohol was warm down her throat, flaming deep in the pit of her stomach as he pressed closer to her. His hand slid around her waist, a force that held her in place. The tremor of her hand caused tiny ripples in the clear liquid as his knee found its way between her legs.

She took a large mouthful as he whispered, "Come upstairs, Darlin'."

* * *

Gregory swirled the Bordeaux and brought the glass to his lips, inhaling deeply before he sipped. "Truffles, don't you think?" a voice said from behind and he glanced over. Sara, the newest associate at _Erickson Vickers_, smiled at him as she inspected his glass. "Excellent finish."

He looked down at his glass, the dark red wine glowing. "Nice legs, too," he said, looking at the blonde over the rim of his glass as he took another sip. With a smirk, she turned away and left him to admire the sway of her hips.

After a moment, he sighed and looked over to their banquet table. It was the last place he remembered seeing Olivia. She drifted away from him and the group they were standing with as small talk gave way to the news of his newest case. But all that remained was a wine glass, a lipstick stain on the rim.

With a sigh, he swallowed the rest of the Bordeaux and frowned. She _would_ disappear. The abyss between them had grown so over the last year that he barely knew how to cross it. She was the light at the end of the tunnel, growing fainter with each day until she was reduced to no more than a flicker.

Leaving him the darkness he so deserved.

* * *

Olivia shook her head slightly, blinking her eyes rapidly as she followed Del into his suite. "No," she groaned softly, shading her eyes as she walked through the living room.

He dimmed the lights until the shadows hung around them like a misty cloud. He followed her gaze, looking out over the Pacific and to the distant horizon. The sky was dark with a blue luster that reflected the silver moon.

Her dark hair was swept up, allowing him to gaze at the bareness of her neck and he leaned forward, his lips brushing her nape. Her back shuddered against his chest as his lips made a determined trail across her neck and his fingers toyed with her zipper. "Shh," he sighed, taking in the scent of her flesh.

She reached up, drawing him around as she met his eyes. Her ivory skin glowed in the moonlight, cool to his touch. "Del," she asked, her slurred voice cloaked in a whisper, "do you love me?"

He eyed her lips longingly, imagining the taste of them. "Course I do, Darlin'," he replied, his voice thick as he cupped her hips. In that moment, he did. He loved all his women in that moment.

Her lips met his, tentatively at first. Her question was a distant echo as their lips melded and the zipper of her dress hummed its descent. The silk fell to the floor as he crushed her to him, his hand grazing the lace edge of her silk stockings. She kicked her dress away, her mouth lost to Del's as she pushed his shirt open.

He growled as her hand skimmed down his chest, ripping the material free from the waist of his pants. His tongue flickered in her warm mouth, sharing air as he walked them back to the bedroom.

* * *

Slowly, Gregory climbed the stairs, rolling his neck. The bones popped satisfyingly and he hissed. A moment later, he loosened his tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt. His sigh and footsteps filled the silence, gentle disturbances that gave life to the home's second floor. The babysitter assured him that both children were asleep, which was a blessing, he realized as he passed his daughter's room. For if she was awake, Caitlin would want to know where her mother was.

And, he wouldn't be able to answer their daughter truthfully.

Because he had no clue.

He walked past his bedroom and quietly opened the door at the end at the end of the hall. A twinkling night light glowed from where it sat on the bureau, scattering golden stars on the walls and ceiling. His eyes adjusted and he crept over to the crib, resting his hands on the railing. Sean looked up at him, blinking his brown eyes. A moment later, the thirteen-month-old dissolved into a grin and held up his arms, straining to be picked up.

With a smile, Gregory reached into the crib and held the baby to his chest, breathing in the fresh scent of baby powder. He ran his hand over his son's fine curls, which were a darker shade of blonde than Caitlin's hair. Gently, he sat down in the rocking chair, his son's pajama-clad feet digging into his thighs as he pushed himself up to a standing position. "What are you doing still awake?" he asked as the baby leaned forward and rested his forehead against his.

"Dada," Sean giggled, drooling all over his father's shirt and tie.

Gregory leaned back, chuckling as he kissed his son's cheek. "Daddy loves you," he said softly as the rocking chair creaked comfortingly. The baby only giggled in reply, grinning broadly. He smiled back, wondering if he could ever forgive himself for the first weeks of his son's life, when he couldn't look at him. An uneasy feeling twisted in his stomach as he drew Sean against his chest, the baby's head tucked beneath his chin. "Very much," he whispered into his son's curls as he kissed his head.

* * *

Bright white sunlight bled through the windows, stinging Olivia's eyes as she slowly woke. She grunted, squeezing them shut as she slowly rolled onto her side. Her eyes narrowed, burning in her sockets as she looked up. Del lay facedown on the bed, snoring lightly. Angry red scratches mapped the flesh of his back.

She ran her hand through her tangled hair, sighing. Her limbs ached, sore as she squirmed on the rumpled sheets. But he barely stirred, not even when she slid out of the bed.

The carpet was warm on her bare feet as she padded across to the bathroom. She closed the door softly, slowly stepping in front of the mirror. Her makeup ran, dark smudges that lined her eyes and gave them an unnatural hollow look. She leaned forward, angling her face as she examined a small red bite just below her ear.

She sighed shakily, breathing becoming a difficult task as she fingered the bite. Her whole body trembled, raking across her naked flesh as she turned from the unforgiving mirror. The enormity of last night rained down on her, stoning her with its force. Her body folded, sliding down into the corner of the large bathroom. A tortured sob escaped her lips and she covered her mouth urgently as hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

A vision flashed before her eyes, a portal to the future. The anger and silence of the last year stretched before her, an eternity of unending hell. Her husband's growing distance and the loathing he cast on her. Bitter words charged with angry hate, alcohol to quell the pain. Lonely nights without being alone. A hell on Earth.

And Gregory. He would _never_ forgive her for Del.

Her eyes raised to the heavens as she rested her hand on her heaving chest. She had thrown herself down this path. Doomed herself to the second level of the Inferno. A shaking hand wiped angry tears off her tortured face.

_She_ had done this.

And for that, she would _never_ forgive herself.

THE END.


End file.
